


Bad Squiddos

by JackTheBard



Series: Clod Commissions [1]
Category: Splatoon
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-14 18:42:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 67,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18953560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackTheBard/pseuds/JackTheBard
Summary: A young inkling meets her team, faces her fears, and battles demons both within and without. (originally written as a commission for Clodcast on tumblr, posted with his permission)





	1. Chapter 1

This was not good.

Claire swam through a line of ink that she’d laid down for herself in a desperate attempt to avoid any and all enemy fire coming through her way, and nearly let out a yelp when an bomb landed right in front of her and detonated. A small splash landed on her and she went back the way she came even as a smattering of ink launched her way.

Fortunately, she was fast enough to get around a corner on Walleye Warehouse and she paused to catch her breath. There wasn’t anyplace she could go but forward, but the person that had been firing at her just a moment ago was likely to be hunting her or, at the very least, re-inking the path behind her.

She took a deep breath and laid down another line of with her mini-splatling and dove in, trying to get back to the center where her teammates were fighting tooth and nail for every point of turf.

There was a beep as she passed over an mine.

“Oh… okay,” was all she could say before the mine exploded.

Being splatted was never a pleasant experience. The world flashed white and the first instinct was to squeeze your eyes shut as you felt everything fall apart. For a moment, a lot of people said, you didn’t really exist. But when that moment past, you reconstituted and came back, and it took a couple of seconds to get your bearings.

Claire didn’t have a lot of experience with being splatted (compared to some of the more seasoned squids on her squad, at least), so she had to take a moment to get her bearings before she started moving again. A quick glance at her minimap showed that her three remaining teammates… make that two… were engaged in combat with the enemy team right now, and that they were trying to make a steady push up the middle to keep pressure on.

However, when you’re outnumbered two to one, the pressure can quickly turn on you, and her team was forced to retreat even as she started to swim back into the fray.

One of her teammates, a girl with an N-Zap 89, hid around the stack of crates in the center of the map and pulled out her targeting pad for her inkstrike, only to have a boy with a dynamo roller catch her with a single flick.

In a fit of desperation, Claire spun up her splatling as quickly as she could and opened fire, but the roller had already disappeared back under his ink and ran away.

She inked as much turf as she could from where she stood on top of a shipping container close to her base, then dove in to try and fill in the sides. However, as she rounded the same corner where she’d had that unlucky encounter with the ink mine, the dynamo roller from before popped up and caught her before she could even react.

Splat.

She came back with a huff of breath and tried to keep a level head. Go and play in a couple of turf wars! her father had said.

You’ll have so much fun, her mother had said.

She couldn’t say no to them, and so here she was. She charged around to the left side to ink some turf that her team hadn’t caught yet. A quick glance at the passing scenery showed that there was one member of her team that was better than the others, at least that’s how it looked.

He lobbed out a splash wall that managed to separate two of the enemy squids working in tandem, and a couple of splashes from his slosher and a quick burst from the girl with the N-Zap dropped them in a heartbeat.

Claire dropped down and continued inking turf. She lobbed a sticky bomb at the wall beside the ramp that led back to the enemy base, and frowned when it actually stuck to the corner just in front of her. It went off just as a splat bomb landed at her feet.

Splat.

She tried to cut around to the ramp on the right side of her team’s spawn, but a girl with a soda slosher was there, waiting.

Splat.

Next, Claire tried to go right up the middle in order to offer support to her team, but the second she came over the crates, she was faced by a girl using a Luna Blaster that had a look in her eyes like she was going to give some kind of witty one-liner the second she pulled the trigger.

Splat.

She tried to pair up with the fourth member of her team, a girl that wielded a carbon roller like she knew how to use it, only to face that dynamo again.

Splat.

Splat.

Splat.

The enemy kept pushing. Sure, her team could hang onto some key areas in order to stop them from getting hemmed in by the enemy advance, but she wasn’t doing any good.

After her eighth time getting splatted, she had more or less given up on trying to do anything useful and was just trying to ink turf. She had pushed forward, beyond the crates and was inking the area around one of the shipping containers towards the enemy base when she saw the telltale splashes of a squid moving through ink.

She was already in the process of spinning up her splatling and taking aim, but the split-second before she felt she could fire effectively enough to cause any real damage seemed to stretch on.

She’d heard about this before, or maybe read about it in a story.

In moments of crisis, a person can perceive time as being much slower than it really is. A second could feel like a hundred years in the worst case scenario, and a person’s brain would try and find any number of things that could potentially help them out, even though the person across from them could very well be experiencing the same thing.

The ink flickered and the boy with the soda slosher came up out of it, readying a strike.

Before he could hit her with a salvo of ink, something flew just past her left ear. She could see that it was a spray of ink, and one of her team’s color, and it splashed over her enemy even as it washed over her.

The other inkling let out a shout of pain and frustration from the one-two combo, and his shot went a little bit wide though it still connected enough to spin Claire and knock her to the ground.

Even as she fell, she opened fire, and her shots cut a diagonal line up the soda slosher’s body from hip to shoulder. Splat.

Claire couldn’t revel in her moment, though, and she fell on her rump, her mini-splatling clattering on the ground beside her. She was dazed a little bit, and she blinked a couple of times so she could properly comprehend the situation.

“Hey,” said the voice at her side.

She looked up and saw the inkling that had helped her. He had a narrow face with a slightly pointed chin. His expression was neutral, neither happy nor disappointed, but there was focus in his eyes. His voice was as flat as three-day-old cola, and bordering on monotone. In his right hand he held a slosher deco.

His left hand was extended out to her, beckoning her to take it.

“Come on,” he said, his voice firm even though it had no inflection, “Get up.”

He seemed to say a lot with just those two words, and his voice held a certain authority in them, almost like he was used to this kind of thing.

Claire felt her cheeks coloring even as their eyes locked, and she wanted to look away, but found that she couldn’t. Her hands moved by themselves, and she realized that she was going back into the game.

Claire took the handle of her splatling in one hand while the other grasped his. He pulled her up effortlessly and gave a curt nod. “There’s still time left. Let’s go.”

They went together. He covered their flanks while she inked the front, and they started to cut a large “v” into the enemy ink, occasional splashes from his slosher covering more and more ground on the sides.

“Break left,” he said, and even through the din of combat, Claire could hear his voice clearly, even though it didn’t seem like he’d raised it.

She moved to the left and dodged a splat bomb that had come sailing at her from the luna blaster on the enemy team, and a splash of ink went back in answer. The boy with the luna blaster was slowed down by the ink that suddenly covered his feet, enough so that Claire could open fire and splat him while he tried to escape.

“Good,” the boy with the slosher deco said, though there wasn’t even the faintest hint of approval in his voice, “Keep moving.”

The pair went off to the left, inking around the back of the wall on the far left side of the map and moving towards the ramp that led towards the enemy base.

Claire lobbed her suction bomb again and it stuck where she intended: on the wall about halfway up the ramp. It exploded and there was a splash from the boy’s slosher on the intervening ink that revealed the dynamo roller. A second splash and a small hail of shots from Claire’s splatling put him out of commission. Thirty seconds left, and the other pair of people on their team were making a push up the middle. If everything went right, they would be able to meet near the enemy base and hold the line there.

Had he planned all of this out, or was it just a whole lot of happy coincidence?

They cleared the way up the ramp and met up with their other teammates. The N-Zap was laying down covering fire while the carbon roller threw burst bombs to keep the enemy pushed back.

However, with twenty-five seconds on the clock, there was a turn.

The dynamo roller on the enemy team launched a salvo of ink that paved the way for the soda slosher to come crashing in. The carbon roller on Claire’s team was splatted immediately, and they were forced to fall back as all two members of the enemy team pressed the attack.

They were nearly forced back to the middle when the boy with the slosher deco rested a hand on Claire’s shoulder. She stopped, though she continued to fire short bursts of ink as a form of suppressing fire, and the N-Zap paused, too.

With ten second left, they made a final push back.

The inkling that had been covering her the entire time had rushed forward and dropped to the ground into a form larger than the standard squid’s. He had released the Kraken, and charged towards the two enemy team members, jumping and spinning in the air as he sent out flashes of ink to drive them back.

But something was amiss.

Why were there only two?

Claire spared a short glance at her map and saw a dismal sight. The enemy had taken advantage of the fact that the whole of their team was clumped together to flank outwards. They were quickly overtaking the ground that Claire and her team had fought so hard to claim.

Five seconds left on the clock, and it looked like it would end up in the air.

Time.

Judd surveyed the scene from on high and raised a single hand to declare the victor, and Claire’s heart caught in her throat for a moment as she prayed that it would be her team that got the win.

Judd’s hand descended…

And pointed directly at the enemy spawn.

Her mouth dropped open and she let the splatling fall from her fingers again while her team groaned and wailed around her… save for the slosher deco that had helped her get back in the game.

“Well, that’s that,” he said, that same neutral inflection in his tone.

Claire felt miserable. She wanted to go home and curl up in bed, never to leave again. It was her fault that they had lost. She didn’t even need to look at her stats in order to see that she’d been splatted more than anyone else on her team, and she likely had a lower inking count than everyone else as well.

She turned and grabbed her splatling, and her feet started to spirit her towards the exit in shame.

A hand clamped on her arm, grip unyielding as iron, and Claire paused. She looked over her shoulder and saw the slosher deco grabbing her, and her eyes widened.

“Wait,” was all he said.

Claire didn’t say anything. She felt like curling up inside herself and turning into a sea snail.

“Let’s get some coffee. It’ll help you calm down,” he said.

“I just…” Claire said, trying to find words for how she felt, but they died in her throat, shriveling up and turning into ash.

“You did alright,” he said, and there was something that Claire couldn’t quite describe in her eyes that told her that he meant it.

That was all that it took to make her take her take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Yeah. That sounds like a good idea.”

The other inkling extended his hand to her, not unlike he had when he had helped her up after her fall. “Starkey,” he said, and even his name had as little inflection as most people would put on the word “laundry” or “meatloaf.”

She shook his hand and gave him a shy smile, her gaze struggling to meet his. “Claire. And… thanks for before.”

“No problem,” Starkey said, and he kept close to Claire as they left.


	2. Chapter 2

It was safe to say that this was uncomfortable.

Claire sat across from Starkey, her hands under the table. She couldn’t stop herself from fidgeting as he brought back their order from the counter. He set down the small cup of espresso in front of her and his cup of tea in front of himself, then sat down and watched her.

Claire couldn’t quite tell if his gaze was intent, curious, or if he was waiting for her to say something first. She took a sip of her coffee and glanced down at the table. He invited her out, likely for a reason, and she didn’t even know what he wanted.

“I want you to join my team,” he said without preamble.

Claire’s first thought was, “well, that answers that question.”

Her second was spoken out loud in the form of her almost choking on a sip of her beverage and sputtering out, “What?!”

“I want you to join my team,” Starkey said again with the exact same inflection as before. His expression did not change, his face was still unreadable, and Claire stared at him with eyes that widened in shock.

“You… you’re serious, aren’t you,” she said as she cautiously set her cup down on its saucer. She had to adjust the cup once it was down because her hands were shaking so much, but that was mainly because she didn’t even know how to react to this sort of statement.

“I am,” Starkey said.

“You saw how bad I was out there, today,” Claire said as she gestured vaguely towards where their match was not twenty minutes ago. “I’m terrible. I’m no good. I had the least splats, least turf inked, and the highest rate of getting splatted! Why would you want me on your team? You’re… you’re good. I’m not.”

Her gaze shifted down to her espresso. Its depths were black and as unreadable as Starkey’s face. She had heard legends long ago about people reading fortunes in tea leaves, and only in this moment did she wonder if the same was possible with coffee grounds.

Then again, any self-respecting barista would never leave the grounds in the bottom of a cup when there were so many ways to strain them out.

Even as she pondered this train of thought, she realized that she was only thinking about these things because she didn’t want to think about the conversation that was happening in the real world across the small, circular table.

“You made some amateur mistakes. You’re clearly inexperienced, but you can get better with time,” Starkey said after he took a sip of his own tea. There wasn’t anything special about it. No scent of honey or other sweetener, nor even the smell of any aromatics. It was just a plain, unremarkable cup of tea.

Claire didn’t know if that said very little about him, or a great deal.

Was he truly as bland as he seemed?

“But,” Starkey continued, seeming to ignore the unbridled confusion that was rampant around the other end of the conversation, “You have potential. You just need confidence, a few more wins, and you’ll be pretty good.”

Claire kept staring at her coffee. Starkey remained silent.

After a few seconds (which felt like a subjective eternity to Claire), she asked, “Do you really think that could happen?”

“Yes,” Starkey said without missing a beat. Somehow, Claire didn’t think that he was capable of lying.

She worried at her lower lip with her teeth and downed the rest of her coffee. Her hand was steadier as she set the cup back down on the saucer, much to her surprise, and she said quietly, “I’ll need some time to think about this.”

“Alright,” Starkey said as he scribbled down a note on a corner of a napkin, “Here’s my number. The other members of my team and I are going to meet up at Ammo Knights in Inkopolis Plaza, tomorrow at noon. If you’re interested, either call me or meet us there.”

With that, Starkey stood up and left, drinking the rest of his tea as he went back to the counter.

He left his cup and saucer in one of the bus bins and made his way out of the coffee shop at a brisk pace. There wasn’t any emotion to his stride, the set of his shoulders, the hunch of his back. He stood ramrod straight, his hands hanging easily at his side, and his eyes stayed forward. He walked like he had somewhere to be, and that he was going to get there five minutes early.

Claire looked down at Starkey’s napkin note. His handwriting was neat and blocky, and he didn’t tear the fragile napkin at all even though he wrote the note quickly.

She watched where Starkey had left and followed suit. But, instead of walking down the street, she crossed it to the subway where she took the train home, making sure to text her family beforehand to let them know that she was on her way back safely.

Home was where the heart was, which is why Claire always felt warmer when she walked up to it. It was a house in a reasonably nice neighborhood. The neighbors were always polite, there were never any issues, and everyone kept to themselves, save for the occasional block party.

She unlocked the door and stepped in, her emptied gear in a case in her right hand. “Mom, Dad!” she called out as she set the case on the floor in the entryway closet and took off her shoes, “I’m home!”

“Hey there, squiddo,” her dad said as he poked his head out of the dining room/kitchen area, “How did it go?”

Her father, Michael, was a short, wiry inkling with his tentacles pulled back in a neat ponytail and a mustache on his upper lip that nearly covered his whole mouth when it was closed. He held a paperback novel in one hand, and was still wearing his shirt and tie from work. He must have been reading just a second ago, because one finger was tucked into the book to save his spot, and his glasses were perched low on his nose. He was giving her an excited smile, the same way that he had after her first day of school.

“We lost,” Claire said nonchalantly. Her parents had both been involved in the occasional casual turf war from time to time. She made her way into the kitchen and sat down across from Michael, who had dogeared his page and set the book aside so he could listen to his daughter’s day.

“There was a bit of a good push towards the end, but we couldn’t get the win,” Claire finished.

“Did you at least make any new friends?” her mother asked as she came into the kitchen and set a pair of glasses down on the table in front of Michael and Claire.

Charity was a tall, willowy inkling with gentle features and a smile like a warm spring morning. The smells of cooking came from the kitchen, and Claire remembered that it was Friday.

They always did stir-fry on Fridays. Her dad had called it something else once upon a time, but they had quickly switched over to “Stir-Friday” when Claire had proposed it, which honestly seemed like the obvious option.

“I met… one person,” Claire admitted. She still didn’t know if Starkey qualified as a friend. Part of her didn’t even know if he counted as an “acquaintance.” He had been so unreadable that she felt like she was staring at a statue at times, but someone could even find emotions in marble if they knew what to look for.

“Oh?” Michael asked, prompting Claire to tell him more. Charity made her way back to the kitchen and continued to work the large pan of stir-fry. Practiced fingers added a couple of dashes of seasoning and the scent of cooking spices filled the air. Black pepper, basil, a sprinkle of sesame oil. The smell of the meal was mellow, but still strong.

“His name was Starkey. He wants me to join his team,” Claire said, then tried to hide her embarrassment with a sip of water. Unfortunately since glass is clear, and so is water, her father could still see the color on her cheeks as she mentioned the offer.

There was a clattering from the kitchen as Charity dropped her wooden spoon in shock. She tried to keep a level voice as she picked it up and gave it a quick rinse.

“Is that so?” she asked.

Michael was grinning so widely that it made his mustache seem small.

“Yeah. I don’t know if I should go for it, though,” Claire said.

“You should,” Michael told her, “It’ll be a great people to get out and meet new folks. Even if you don’t keep at it for a while, you’ll at least have a bit of fun, right?”

“I suppose…” Claire said, though she was still unsure about the whole thing.

“Well, a good night’s rest will help you decide. When are you supposed to have an answer for him?” Charity asked.

Claire unconsciously fingered the napkin note in her pocket as she said, “He didn’t say, but he told me that he and his teammates were going to be meeting up tomorrow at noon.”

“Soup’s on!” Charity called from the kitchen even as she pulled out plates for the three of them.

Michael came into the kitchen, grabbed his bottle of hot sauce from the fridge, and took the plate of stir-fry from his wife with a peck on the cheek (he had to get onto his tiptoes to do it). “It looks delicious, Charity. Thank you,” he said, then turned to Claire. “Claire, could you get forks and napkins, please?”

Claire was one step ahead of him and set the table as Michael came back with plates for himself and for Claire. Charity was a step behind him, and they all sat down to tuck in.

They ate quietly for a moment, enjoying the veggies and meat and noodles all coming together as one before Charity picked up the previous conversation again. “I think you should give it a shot, Claire. What’s the worst that could happen? You don’t get along with them?”

Michael was adding more hot sauce to his plate as he replied (seriously, what was with dads and spicy food?), “Besides, it’ll be something to help you unwind if you’re stressed. I remember that’s when I needed to go to the splatterfield the most.”

Her parents were right, and she knew it. They were good people, which was more than an unfortunate number of folks could say about their family, and it would do her some good to follow their advice.

The rest of the meal passed in relative silence, with Charity and Michael asking each other about their day, and Claire and Michael tag-teamed on the dishes before everyone settled in for the evening. Claire just went to bed after that, read a couple of pages of a paperback her dad had loaned her to get her dozing off, and passed out.

“Claire!”

Her mother’s voice woke her up almost immediately afterwards, or at least that’s how it felt. “I’m headed out! Have a good day!”

She looked over at the clock on her nightstand. Eight thirty, same time as usual that her mom left for work.

Claire got out of bed, stretched, and made ready to go to the meeting. “Remember, squiddo,” her dad had told her, “Always try to get to where you’re going a half an hour early. At that point, the worst that could happen to you is that you wait.”

So Claire got ready, and was heading out the door by ten-thirty. It was a fifteen minute walk to the nearest subway, and the ride itself was a good thirty minutes and change to Inkopolis Plaza. It was more than enough time to get her head on straight.

Was Starkey the way he was because he was talking business, or was he like that all the time? Either way, it seemed like she would see more of the same from him today.

She got off the subway at Inkopolis Plaza and immediately spotted the arms shop in question. Sheldon the Horseshoe Crab was the go-to guy for Turf War weapons in the city, and he always seemed eager to help out.

“Hello!” he said chipperly as he came from behind the counter to greet her, “You must be Claire. The others are already in the back.”

Claires face twisted in confusion. She checked her watch; it was just a hair past eleven-thirty. “How did you know my name?” she asked.

“Starkey said to keep an eye out for you,” Sheldon explained, “Said you’d likely be kind of nervous.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong.

She made her way into the back, where there were several practice rooms for people to try their hand at new weapons or practice with old ones. It wasn’t hard to figure out which one was Starkey’s.

His voice rang out like a voice over an intercom, though there was still no inflection to it. “Right. Let’s try that movement again. Valentina, get the bombs ready. Dason, prepare for flanking.”

Any and all chatter stopped once Claire stepped into the practice room, and three faces turned to look at her.

Well.

Two faces and a gas mask.

There was at least another girl in the group, and that girl was the only one that Claire could read. Her expression betrayed confusion, and she looked back and forth between Starkey and Claire.

“Um… hi,” Claire said as she stepped a little more into the room. She held her equipment case in front of her as she did so, hoping that it would be enough to establish some sort of street cred with these other two, and possibly Starkey himself.

“Glad you could make it,” Starkey said.

There was nothing about him to betray the idea that he was glad.

“This is Valentina and Dason,” Starkey said as he gestured to his two teammates. They both gave polite waves, though Valentina’s expression was still confused and Dason was even more unreadable than Starkey behind his gas mask.

“Valentina, Dason, this is Claire. She’s going to be our fourth.”

Dason stared at Starkey, though his body language betrayed nothing. He kept his hands in the pockets of his jacket and even statues seemed to move more than he did.

Valentina was not nearly as reserved.

“Oh my gosh!” she said as she set down her gear and went over to Claire.

Claire had been expecting a lot of things, but a hug was not one of them.

Valentina was taller than Claire, though they had a similar build, and her smile was wide enough to cover half of her face. “It’s going to be so nice to have another girl on our team. You have no idea what it’s like hanging out with these two boneheads all day.”

Starkey blinked. Claire felt like it was the closest thing that she would see to a frown on Starkey’s face. Dason’s head snapped towards Valentina and Claire felt a distinct aura of menace coming from behind that gas mask, even though it wasn’t directed at Claire specifically.

“Alright,” Starkey said, “Now that we have introductions out of the way, it’s time to warm up. Valentina, you’re paired with Claire. I’ll work with Dason. Let’s move.”

Claire opened up her equipment case and removed her harness and tank. Valentina was kind enough to help out. “So…” Claire said, “Is Starkey always like that?”

“Like what? Cold and unreadable? Yeah, pretty much,” Valentina replied.

“How long have you known him?”

“Long enough to know that I’m never going to see him smile.”

Claire couldn’t tell if that was a short time or a long time. She had only met Starkey yesterday and she already felt like she wasn’t going to see a positive expression on the other inkling’s face for a bit.

“What about Dason?” Claire asked.

“He’s pretty cool once you get to know him. Not really much of a talker, though,” Valentina said as they fastened the last strap. “Alright, you’re good to go,” she said with a grin, “Now let’s get started!”

They ran through a few drills together, and Claire found that she wasn’t making the same mistakes that she had the day before, at least not the ones she had noticed. Valentina was chipper and helpful, and came across as being like a cool big sister to Claire, always correcting her mistakes with a gentle hand and a soothing voice.

After about a half hour, Starkey’s voice barked out, “Alright, that’s enough of a warm up.” Loud with zero emotion… Claire didn’t think she’d ever get used to it.

“Time to hit the turf wars. Let’s go,” Starkey said as he headed back towards the exit of the room. Dason followed him, and there was a set to his shoulders that reminded Claire of a wolf about ready to pounce. His hands were still stuffed in his pockets and Claire got the distinct impression that he was angry.

“That’s just his game face,” Valentina said as if she’d been reading Claire’s mind. Without offering any explanation, she clapped Claire on the shoulder, “Let’s go!”

The maps for the day were Camp Triggerfish and Blackbelly Skate Park, and Starkey planned strategy as they waited for their matchups. For the most part, they were either to move independently or in pairs; he had learned from his mistakes yesterday, as well. Claire tried to follow along as best as she could, and realized that she would need to improvise at some points because his instructions were a little too vague.

They lost the first match a little too handily. Afterwards, there was a set to Starkey’s eyes that betrayed that he was at least a little irritated, but that passed away quicker than a mayfly in a blizzard.

Afterwards, they went over the mistakes that they made in an attempt to correct them. A lot of Claire’s came from inexperience, which Valentina assured her would pass in due time.

Soon, the noise went up for the next match, and they went back into the fray.

They played a total of five games, with losses in the first three (though the third one was close), and wins in the last two. In part, it was because they were still learning how to work together effectively, and in part it was because Claire was still trying to figure out how everything worked in the first place.

But she felt something after that first win.

She felt like she was having fun.

Sure, Starkey was impossible to read, and Dason either came off as aggressive or unshakable, and Valentina was a little too bubbly at times, especially when it got down to the one-minute mark, but Claire was having fun with them.

Maybe, she thought.

Maybe, she had actually made some friends.


	3. Chapter 3

Juice... is wonderful.

This is not to be contested, and the first person that dares to contest such an inevitable and obvious fact of the universe should be escorted directly to the nearest psychiatric ward for assessment by the most proficient juice-trained psychologist that they have available at the time.

Which is to say that aforementioned individual of dubious lucidity will have the pick of the litter, because many scientists have the distinct belief that the mere concept of "juice" in its various forms has managed to keep many a medical and psychomedical student sane throughout the various unnecessarily rigorous tests that they had to face during their time at medical school.

After all, the simplest things in life have a tendency to be the most profoundly and inexplicably healing things out there. How much simpler can one get than "I'm going to squeeze these pieces of fruit really hard and drink their blood"?

When one takes that specific approach, it makes sense how the concept of a Juice Bar is so closely intertwined with the mere concept of psychoanalysis.

However, even though juice bars are a thing that exist in this particular plane of existence, they are not necessarily the cure for all ills, despite what many a student of mind medicine may claim.

Yoga and juice bars are equally ineffectual when it comes to calming the mind, a fact that Claire quickly learned.

After their three ill-fated matches and their two matches that somehow managed to turn in their favor (even though they won one by at least twenty percent more than their enemy), Claire and her newfound teammates sat in the warm late-afternoon sun of Inkopolis Plaza.

Valentina was giving a particularly epic and detailed recounting of the day's events, even though all of the company present was present for the events she was describing.

"Starkey, you were so cool! You dove right into the line and popped the Kraken and just went around like a rubber ball in a bounce house!"

"And Dason, oh my goodness, when you looped around behind them and started enemies like you were some kind of secret agent, that was so cool!"

"Claire. Oh my gosh. You were right there whenever we needed it. You were the perfect backup that anyone could ask for. I'm glad you took our drills to heart!"

Everyone else stayed silent while Valentina launched into her recountings, though it was safe to say that everyone was content with the outcome of the day.

Well, Valentina was obviously pleased, and Claire had a good time, but Starkey was as neutral as ever, and she couldn't even begin to wonder what kind of thoughts lingered behind Dason's mask.

When Valentina had finished her gushing, she leaned forward on the table, careful not to jostle anybody's drinks, and let out a sigh of satisfaction.

"I'm glad you brought us on, Starkey. We may not be much now, but we've got potential, I think," she said just before taking a sip of her blackberry-pomegranate beverage.

Starkey stared at her for a second. He'd taken off his cap and placed it under the table on his knee while they discussed the day's matches, and it seemed that he kept his tentacles in that neat ponytail for efficiency's sake more than anything else. Nothing looked ruffled, and Claire thought it must be part of Starkey's reason for styling his tentacles that way.

"I took you on because you seemed like the best fit," Starkey said, and his gaze was so unwavering that he didn't even blink, "That's all."

"Fair enough," Valentina said as she leaned back in her chair and let out a long, satisfied sigh.

Claire looked at Starkey as he sipped his cranberry juice (no ice, he'd been very insistent on that), then at Dason.

As far as Claire could tell, Dason had never removed his hands from his pockets. However, the Mango Lassi he'd ordered seemed much emptier than it had been when he'd first sat down.

"So," Claire said, finally deciding to break the silence, "What now?"

Everyone stared at her to some degree or another. She felt like curling up on herself and going home. Her performance was mediocre at best compared to her teammates, and now she was asking stupid questions? They probably hated her.

"We keep improving," Starkey said after only a moment's thought. With that, all gazes shifted to him, and he took a sip of his cranberry juice before he continued.

"Given enough time, enough practice, and good enough tactics, we'll be some of the best, so let's keep on pushing towards that goal."

It wasn't the most eloquent speech, but Claire was awestruck. So many people talked about being the best with passion, but Starkey talked about it as if it was fact.

Then again, that was the way he always talked about things, so why should this be any different?

She glanced at Dason's drink again for a moment, and it was half empty when it had only been a quarter empty before.

Even in her periphery, she should have seen him move...

She looked back to Starkey and asked, "So what should we do for now?"

Starkey remained still for a moment, so still that stones could take lessons, and said only, "The best you can. If you want to do turf wars outside of our team, I won't chew you out for it. I'm not one of those hardball team captains that will give you a hard time for trying to better yourself outside of practice."

Then, for the first time since she'd met him, Claire heard Dason speak.

It was a muffled sound, like someone had their hand clamped loosely over their mouth, but it was intelligible, and his voice was a tone that Claire couldn't quite put her finger on.

"So you just want us to be the best that we can be?"

Claire stared at Dason and his quarter-full juice glass for a moment, her mouth threatening to drop off her chin and onto the floor, until Starkey replied.

"Yeah, that's about it," Starkey replied as he took another drink of juice. "Just learn from your mistakes. I'm not going to be your captain forever, so it would do you some good to learn strategies with other people."

"You sounded pretty cool just now," Valentina said. She was wearing a warm smile on her face, one of genuine admiration rather than one of awe (like Claire was wearing), and she finished her juice and stood up from the table.

"Well, we have to get going," Valentina said, and Dason stood up as well. His glass was inexplicably, remarkably empty. Claire had never seen him take his hands out of his pockets.

"Message me when we have another practice!" she said as she and Dason walked off together.

"So do they... uh..." Claire asked once they were out of earshot.

"No," Starkey said.

"So they're friends?

"Yes."

"They seem close."

"They do."

"So they came to you together?" Claire asked. She took a calculated risk and sipped at her lemon-lime seltzer to give Starkey some time to answer.

"They did," he said before she had even swallowed.

"Were they they only ones?" she asked. Only now did she realize that she was prying into the affairs of her teammates (goodness, she was already thinking of them as her teammates), and decided to listen rather than speak.

"No. There were twenty, give or take," Starkey replied, and his gaze shifted over to her. "They worked the best together, and that's what I was looking for."

"So... what about me?" Claire dared to ask, despite her desire to let him speak.

"You have potential. You're new, you're still learning, but you can go a long way," Starkey said simply as he finished his juice. "What train do you take?"

"Oh," Claire said. Her glass was still half full, but that was mostly ice. She took a long pull from the straw and pushed it away, gathering that he wanted to free up the table. "I take the T."

"I'll see you off," Starkey said as he picked up his equipment case from the floor next to him and stood up. Claire followed suit and they made their way to the subway platform together. It was mostly empty, what with it being a good hour before the evening rush, and they had to wait a few minutes before the next T train came by.

"So..." Claire said, her voice questioning, "Why are you putting together this team?"

Starkey was silent for a moment before he gave the simplest answer that she could have expected, and the most complex one she could have imagined.

"I love turf war."

Claire tilted her head in confusion. "What?"

"I love turf war. I love the feeling of pressing forward and being pushed back, I love the constant struggle for every inch that could be the deciding factor in a match.

"Every time I'm splatted is a chance for improvement. Every time I splat someone else, it's a sign that I've improved. Even the humiliation I experience when a team beats me by thirty percent is a chance for me to learn and become better than I was before that match. Every time my team beats another is a time for me to analyze my strategies to see what worked and what didn't."

His gaze shifted over to her, and she saw a fire in his eyes even though his face remained impassive. "I want to be one of the best, so I can lead others to be better than myself," he said.

Claire couldn't say anything to that. After all, how could you say anything to what was probably the most emotional speech that he'd given so far? Here was someone that seemed so neutral, so emotionless that she couldn't dare to read him even if she tried, and he had expressed a love so deep that she couldn't fathom.

"You want to have a team that's better than you are?" Claire asked, grasping desperately for understanding.

"Not now," Starkey said as he turned his gaze back towards the tracks, "But in the future, yes."

There was the telltale screeching of wheels on rails as the train approached, but there was still time. Claire stood up as she started to make her way towards the tracks, and her equipment case was gripped in knuckles so tight that they were white.

"Then I'll be a part of your team," Claire said. She didn't know where that statement came from, but she was fully aware of two things.

First: She had her back to him as she delivered that proclamation of conviction, which made her seem like she was reenacting a cliche scene out of an anime where a character delivers a line with heavy impact just before the end of the episode.

Second: She only had her back turned to him because her face was so deeply colored that it would look like she'd been splashed in the face with a slosher.

Starkey said nothing as she made her way towards the platform, and she turned around to face him once she was on board the train.

She might have been fooling herself, but there was something about his face that extended beyond his eyes.

For a brief moment, from thirty feet away, she thought she saw the corner of Starkey's mouth quirked into a smirk that disappeared as if the expression had realized that it was being observed.

It must have been a hallucination.

The train ride back was uneventful, the train picking up more and more passengers as the transit dragged on and as rush hour picked up. Even though it was a Saturday, there were plenty of commuters, and Claire gave up her seat to a middle-aged gentleman that looked like he was about to pass out from sheer exhaustion.

She walked back home and, for the first time since she had started doing turf wars, the case felt light in her hand.

Her dad's shoes were just inside the door when she got home. He didn't work on Saturdays, so that meant it was always his turn to make dinner.

Claire replaced the case in the entryway closet, removed her shoes, and stepped into the dining area to be assaulted by the scent of one of her father's famous roasts of dubious quality.

"Hey, Dad," she said. She struggled to keep a smile off her face, and she knew that her face was colored with excitement.

"I made some friends today."


	4. Chapter 4

It was easy to fall into the routine that followed. Monday and Tuesday, Claire trained with Starkey in order to improve her tactics. Wednesday, she trained with Valentina and Dason for improvements on skill and motion. Thursday was a team meeting day, followed by Turf War, while Friday was a quick warm-up before a day of Turf War.

Saturday and Sunday were their days off, since Turf War would be flooded with inklings from all manner of leagues at that time.

"It's a bad idea," Starkey said, "They open it up to all ages at that time, and that's when a lot of the veterans come out to play because they have jobs during the week."

Claire supposed it was a good idea, anyways. She enjoyed the setup that they had, and didn't think that an extra day on the splatterfield would do her as much good as she initially thought. Days of rest, and all that.

But she enjoyed the training time more than anything else. It was a bonding moment between her and her newfound teammates, even though she quickly found that their personality quirks weren't due to meeting someone new and that was just how they were.

Starkey was a firm, if fair instructor, and on her training days with him, he would often drill her on a single technique for over an hour until she was able to get it to the level of perfection that he appreciated and that Claire demanded of herself.

He never really showed disappointment in one form or another about her attempts to achieve perfection, though. Then again, reading Starkey was like reading a book with no pages. The more time that Claire spent with him, the more she began to feel that he wasn't "blank," but rather that his emotions were so subtle that they might not even be there.

It came to a head one training session where she was supposed to track him across terrain and through various forms of ink. He was making it even more difficult for Claire by using Ninja Squid in order to push her to the limit, and she had passed him several times throughout the course of the training.

It wasn't without saying that she got better, though. She never really caught Starkey, but she got closer and closer with each attempt, to the point where she started thinking ahead, inking areas that she thought he would use as escapes in order to limit the places he could go.

She had cut off all but one escape route and had her mini splatling spun up to unleash a volley at him when he invariably showed himself, and rounded a corner without checking it first.  
Starkey crashed right into her, and the two fell to the ground together. Claire was on her back, her mini splatling just out of reach, and Starkey had caught himself from faceplanting right into her by putting his hands out on either side of her head at the last second.

The end result was Starkey propping himself up over Claire with their faces barely six inches apart.

For a moment, the training was the furthest thing from Claire's mind. She looked at Starkey's face and took in every detail of it. She'd noticed how narrow and pointed it had seemed the first time she had met him, but never really considered that, aside from his chin, how smooth his face had seemed. There were a lot of inklings, especially those around Starkey's age, that tried to grow some semblance of tentacle whiskers even though they couldn't do so effectively just yet.

Starkey wasn't one of those. His face was all smooth planes and rounded curves, his mouth expressionless if pleasant, and his eyes were intent on her... or were they distant?

Another glance at Starkey indicated that, despite the fact that he appeared to be staring at her, he was completely frozen. She didn't even think that he was breathing.

After a moment that seemed like it stretched on for far too long, Claire broke the silence in order to restore some semblance of normality to the situation.

"So, uh..." she started, and Starkey blinked as if he was resetting his brain before he stood up, "Does that count?"

"No," Starkey said, and there was a quality to Starkey's voice that she hadn't quite heard before. It might have been disapproval, it might have been embarrassment, but she couldn't figure it out for the life of her. "It's a good start, though. You had me pinned down and could have gotten me if I tried to ink any of the exits. It's a good start, but you need to check your corners."

Claire hung her head despondently, now feeling embarrassment herself at how she hadn't gotten it right. "I'll do better next time," she said, and Starkey nodded in return.

"I don't doubt it. You never make the same mistake twice, Claire," he said, and there was a glimmer in his eyes that made Claire wonder for a moment.

That was the beginning, she supposed. The next day, she found herself hanging more and more on Starkey's advice, even though she knew that she was paying attention to more than just the words. She pushed herself to do better for the sake of his praise, and her heart soared when he told her that she had done well at the end of the training session.

Even though she would never admit it out loud, she thought that her reaction to his compliment was more than just being happy with herself for being able to make her captain proud.

Though... was that all that Starkey was to her? A captain? A friend?

She didn't think about this as she packed up her gear and went home.

The next day was Wednesday, and she trained with Dason and Valentina for a good few hours before they took a break at a cafe in Inkopolis Plaza.

"You're definitely getting better, Claire!" Valentina said as she leaned back in her chair and rocked on the hind legs slightly. The day was sunny, warm, and altogether pleasant, and the trio sat outside together.

Valentina took a sip of her drink. It was an iced acai-blackberry-pomegranate... something, and she had a blueberry tart on the plate in front of her, fresh out of the chiller. "That extra training with Starkey's been doing you good. You had me pinned down in no time during that last drill!"

Claire blushed and took a sip of her espresso. She had opted away from a pastry; she wasn't that hungry. "Thanks... I've been trying to catch up so I don't hold you back."

Dason stared at her from across the table, but she had been able to cotton onto the changes in his mood by slight shifts in his body language. The set of his shoulders was relaxed, and his head was angled slightly forward. He approved, and Claire couldn't suppress a smile at that thought. She actively avoided thinking about the cup of black tea and danish in front of him, and she certainly did not consider the fact that the danish had two bites taken out of it since they sat down, and that Dason hadn't even removed his hands from his pockets since he put his snack at the table.

A comfortable silence passed for a few seconds, but Claire broke it with a question.

"Have you ever seen Starkey... you know, freeze?"

Dason's head tilted, a sign of confusion, and Valentina said, "No, why?"

Claire explained the incident from two days prior, intentionally omitting the information about how she and Starkey had been so close together.

"He didn't even seem like he was breathing," Claire said, glancing down at her espresso, searching it for answers like she had the first time that she had sat down with Starkey. "I think I might have upset him."

Valentina's voice came out without the same cheerful inflection that it had every other time that Claire had heard her speak. "Claire, how close were you to the Captain?"

Claire started and looked over at Valentina to see that the other girl was staring back at her with a level and almost implacable gaze.

Dason said nothing. His head was still tilted as he waited for an explanation, though his gaze had shifted over to Valentina as if waiting for an answer.

"Close," Claire said. She had to keep a straight face. She had not to blush. She had to do everything that she could to not betray feelings that may or may not have been there.

"How close?" Valentina asked, continuing to press.

"What does it matter?" Claire said defensively.

"Seems like you'd only be able to notice that kind of detail if you were really..." Valentina leaned closer to Claire.

"Really," yet closer.

"Close."

Valentina's face was about as far away from Claire's as Starkey had been. Dason's shoulders had lost their relaxation, and his body shifted as if he was going to kick Valentina under the table.

There was no hiding it, now, no suppressing it. Claire's face was definitely the same color as her tentacles, and she tore her eyes away from Valentina to stare at her espresso. Wow, that sure was dark and bitter, wasn't it? Mmm. Coffee.

"So it was that close," Valentina said as she leaned back with a sense of satisfaction.

"So what if it was," Claire said, her voice timid. There was no point in trying to be forceful. She was to embarrassed to be forceful. Of course, she was only embarrassed because Valentina had gotten that uncomfortably close to her with almost an intent to embarrass her, but that was it. That was all. There was no other reason for her to be embarrassed.

"By the Great Zapfish, you're crushing on the Captain!" Valentina said in a whisper that was way too loud to be considered such.

"I am not," Claire said firmly. She tried to make her voice sound as neutral as Starkey's, but even thinking about emulating him made her stomach do a somersault, a backflip, then an acrobatic fucking pirrouette off the handle before it realized that gymnastics was not an appropriate career choice and decided to do something much more productive, like screaming into a pillow.

"You totally are!" Valentina said, and her hands leapt up to her mouth to cover them in absolute shock. "Oh my goodness, you're crushing hardcore!"

Claire shot the most baleful look she could muster in Valentina's direction, but she knew that the second she did that she didn't look the way she wanted to. Less "stop what you're saying right now" and more "I am a puppy and you just kicked me, even if it was unintentional."

Valentina's expression softened, but she still kept on pressing. "Listen, I'm not going to stop you. I even encourage it. I'm just surprised that you and him could potentially-"

She was cut off by a jostling of the table and her own yelp of pain. Valentina reached under the table to rub at her shin, muttering something under her breath that Claire couldn't quite make out.

"Cut it out."

The voice was a basso rumble, muffled like someone had their hand over the speaker's mouth, and was as firm as tempered steel.

Claire's expression turned from dejected embarrassment to shock as she looked over at the origin of the voice. Another bite had mysteriously vanished from Dason's danish, but her gaze was more fixated on Dason himself. His shoulders had squared so he was facing Valentina fully, and Claire could tell by the set of his body that he was readying to kick her under the table again if she kept on pressing.

"Come on, Dason!" Valentina complained, "You know you want to see how this would play-"

"Cut. It. Out," Dason said again, and Claire knew for a fact that the voice came from behind that mask even if she didn't see so much as a movement of his mouth as he spoke.

"Fine..." Valentina said dejectedly as she kept on rubbing at her shin, though she pulled her leg up to cross over the other as she did so.

Claire glanced down at Dason's plate and saw that another bite had disappeared from the danish and that his cup of tea was a bit emptier than before.

They left it at that.

Valentina gave a couple more bits of advice about minor improvements that Claire could make during their matches tomorrow, and they went their separate ways afterwards.

The next day was game day.

"Right," Starkey said as he gathered all of his team around an aerial view of Walleye Warehouse, pointing out bits and pieces of terrain. "Val and I will take the middle. Claire, you start inking our base to build up your special. Dason, you're on Crowd Control."

He continued to detail more and more of the plan, but it basically amounted to, "Cover our base, wait for your two-on-ones, and watch your back." Claire listened, but she found that she was looking more at Starkey than the map. Valentina pretended not to notice and failed miserably. Dason tapped his foot on the ground twice as if to warn Valentina about what would happen if she opened her mouth and started telling tales out of school.

"Are we clear?" Starkey said, his voice as bland as ever. He glanced around at each of his team members, and they gave an affirmative one by one. Claire thought she felt Starkey's gaze linger on her for a little longer, because she saw that fire that had been in his eyes when he talked about how much he loved Turf War.

"Then let's go," he said as he stood up and closed the map. He grabbed his slosher and hooked it up to the ink tank on his back. The klaxon went off to signal that a match was about to begin.

The splatterfield awaited, and Claire marched out with her friends to face the enemy.


	5. Chapter 5

"So," Michael asked Claire when she came out of her room for lunch. He looked up from his book and adjusted his glasses so he could see her a little better.

"So," Claire replied as she reached into the fridge and got herself the fixins for a sandwich. Rye bread, mustard, pastrami, and swiss cheese... plus a couple of pickles. She started to assemble the dish as she waited for the question that she knew was on her dad's mind.

"When are we going to meet this captain of yours?"

Claire had snagged a can of cola from the fridge to go with her sandwich. In retrospect, she probably shouldn't have even started to drink until after her dad had asked the question, because she choked on the drink and started to cough over the sink.

Michael stood up and made his way over to Claire and patted her on the back until she was able to wheeze out, "What?!"

"If I knew that asking would have gotten that reaction, I would have timed my question better," he said, his voice full of sympathy.

Claire wheezed out another cough and stood up as straight as she could before she stared at her dad with a stare so even that it might have matched Starkey's. "Not anytime soon."

"Aww," Michael chided as he reached out to pinch his daughter's cheek. Claire had to fend off his hands as he backed her into the corner of the kitchen, "Are you embarrassed of us?"

"No!" Claire said defensively, "I'm embarrassed of me! What if he comes over and thinks that I'm weird?"

Michael paused, then arched an eyebrow at his daughter, "Why would he think that?"

"I don't know!" Claire said, and she knew that her cheeks were starting to color slightly at the thought, "I just don't want him to think badly of me."

Michael stared at her for a moment, then his eyes started to twinkle with recognition, "I get it."

"No you don't!"

"I definitely do. Let me see your phone. I'm going to call him over for dinner," Michael said as he advanced with grabby hands.

"Nooooo!" Claire moaned in despair just as Charity walked into the kitchen and paused to stare at the scene.

"Um..." Charity said as her gaze flicked from Michael to Claire and back again, "What's going on here?"

"Dad's trying to call Starkey so he'll come over for dinner!" Claire said despondently.

Charity stared at Michael her expression speaking volumes that Claire couldn't read, and Michael backed off. "Stop terrorizing our daughter," Charity said flatly, and Michael bowed his head in embarrassment and made his way back to the kitchen table and his book.

"Claire," Charity said as Claire picked up the plate with the completed sandwich and her can of cola, "I was actually wondering if I could borrow your phone. I've misplaced mine and I just want to call it to see where it is."

"Oh!" Claire said as she set the plate down and reached into her pocket. She typed out the code to unlock it and handed the phone over to her mom, "Here."

Charity took the phone and flipped through it for a moment before she pressed it to her ear and started to walk towards the living room. "Michael," she said calmly.

Claire watched in mild confusion as Michael stood up and blocked the pathway into the living room with the most intimidating T-Pose that he could muster.

Considering that his daughter was an inch taller than him and that he was a bit on the scrawny side, it wasn't very intimidating.

Claire understood when her mother started speaking.

"Hi! Is this Starkey?"

"MOM NO!" Claire said. She didn't even have time to set her stuff down before she ran, and the can of cola fell on the floor and started to spill out its contents.

"I'm Claire's mom. I was wondering if you'd want to join us for dinner tonight?"

"MOM!" Claire protested as she tried to go towards the living room and stop Charity from finishing the request. Michael, diminutive as he was, blocked the path.

"Great! Come on over about five. Dinner will be at six," Charity said, then rattled off their address so Starkey could find their place.

Claire's mouth dropped open, and she felt the color drain out of her face.

Charity hung up and handed the phone back over to Claire.

"I can't believe you," Claire said as she numbly took the phone back and put it in her pocket. "I can't believe that you would do that. How could you do that to me?"

Charity and Michael exchanged a look and grinned at each other before Michael dropped the T-pose and went back to his book.

"Did you just run a military operation on me?!" Claire asked indignantly, and she immediately picked up the mostly-empty can of cola and began to wipe it up off the floor with one of the dish towels. She'd have to clean it more thoroughly later, so it wouldn't become sticky, but this was what she could do right now.

"I wouldn't go that far," Michael said with a grin. Charity sat down across from her husband and beamed at him.

"We wanted to meet your captain, and we know that there's no way that you would invite him yourself," Charity said, "So we had to reach out to him ourselves."

Claire dropped the dish towel in the hamper just inside the laundry room and collapsed down into a chair with her sandwich in front of her. "I'm never trusting you guys again."

"You say that now," Michael said before he folded his book over his finger and tapped his chin thoughtfully, "Now what should we make for dinner? Maybe I could cook!"

Claire immediately perked up and said, "No! If Starkey's coming over, he's not going to eat your cooking! You'll kill him!"

Michael frowned at that, but it was halfhearted and still full of mirth. "So who's going to make dinner?" he asked.

"I will," Claire said, and immediately regretted it. Charity and Michael were sharing another smile, and Claire knew that she had been manipulated again.

"I'll at least help," Charity said as Claire took a bite of her sandwich hoping that it could wash the taste of foot out of her mouth. She scowled at both of her parents and continued to eat, knowing full well that if she ate too quickly it would likely give her a case of the hiccups and that it would really suck if that happened.

"I'll figure out the menu," Claire said after she swallowed. Even as the bite of sandwich settled in her stomach, she knew that she was going to have to deal with hiccups, "Then mom and I can go out grocery shopping. Dad, you're not allowed anywhere near the kitchen while we work."

With the exception of breakfast foods, Michael Cloud was the kind of man that was capable of burning water.

Charity beamed at Claire, and it would have been as warm as sunshine if it weren't for the fact that Claire's own gaze would have made Absolute Zero look like a balmy summer day.

Claire stood up and went to her bedroom, taking what was left of her sandwich and cola with her. She sat down and started writing out an ingredient list.

While she was no master chef, she had learned a thing or three from her mother, absolutely nothing from her father, and a whole lot of things from the Food Network. She had a few dishes that she could make solidly, only a few of which were even particularly fancy.

She didn't know if Starkey wanted something fancy, though. He probably didn't. She decided to keep it simple.

Once she had finished lunch, she walked out and said to her mom, "I have a list."

Charity took the list from Claire's hands and looked it over, nodding in understanding. After a fashion, she took out a pen and ticked off a handful of the items before she gave it back to Claire.

"We already have those around here somewhere, so we don't have to worry about it," Charity said as she stood up and went to get her coat.

"Okay..." Claire said, then looked down to see that "bread crumbs," "hot sauce," "butter," and "Ritz crackers" were already marked off.

She and Charity left, with Michael waving goodbye as they did, though he didn't get up from the table, and the mother-daughter duo made their way over to the nearby grocery store.

It was a simple enough trip, divide and conquer to cover the most ground and do the most damage. After her mom came back to their cart with ground beef, whole milk, and three different kinds of cheese, she glanced curiously at the cart and one of the items that Claire had put in it.

"Cranberry juice?" Charity asked as she picked up the half-gallon bottle and shifted her gaze over to Claire with a questioning expression.

"It's..." Claire began as she felt her face heating up. She grabbed a couple of jalapenos from their box in the produce section and busied herself with putting them in a bag and into the cart so she wouldn't have to meet her mom's gaze. "It's Starkey's favorite."

Charity said nothing more, and put it back into the cart, though she did wear a smug smile while she did so.

Claire said nothing as they grabbed the asparagus, remained silent as they snagged a couple of lemons, and did not speak as they grabbed a large box of penne.

She only spoke up when the rest of the ingredients were gathered and her mother stopped to grab a bouquet of flowers from the small stand near checkout.

"I'm not giving Starkey flowers!" Claire protested.

"Who said they were for him?" Charity responded slyly even as she inhaled the scent of the daffodils and white tulips she carried.

"Oh," Claire said as she settled down, "So you're getting them for yourself?"

"No," Charity said, "I'm getting them for your father."

"What? Why?" Claire said. Tradition stated that flowers were usually gifts for women, not for men.

"Let me share a little secret with you, Claire," Charity said as they started to go through checkout. The lady manning their lane was quick, efficient, and had three customers attended to before Charity even finished telling her secret.

"If you buy flowers for someone, and they dislike it for a reason other than allergies, then there's something wrong with them," Charity said.

"So you're saying that anybody can buy anybody flowers if they want?"

"That's what I'm saying, yes," Charity agreed.

"Why, though?"

"Why not?" Charity answered with a shrug.

The lady behind the register frowned at the chatting pair of inklings and held out a hand for the payment. Claire started to reach for her wallet, only to have her mother stop her.

"I caused this mess, so I'm not going to have you paying for it out of your own pocket," she chided, and Claire relaxed. It's not like it was a particularly hefty bill, but she wasn't expecting to spend that amount of money on short notice.

Four bags of stuff and a bouquet of flowers later, Claire and Charity were on their way out of the store and headed home.

"So, I think I can venture a guess as to what you're making," Charity said as they walked.

"It's not like it's hard..." Claire replied with a frown.

"It looks really good," Charity encouraged, and Claire's shoulders hitched up to the point where they might have been earrings.

"I'm just worried."

"Why? Because he's your captain?"

"Yes," Claire said a little too quickly. There was no way that she was going to reveal her feelings to her mother at this, or any other, juncture until she knew how Starkey felt in return.

Charity, however, could read between the lines, and her daughter was terrible at hiding her feelings.

"So is there anything that I should know about Starkey before he shows up?" Charity asked.

"He's really hard to read," Claire said. It would be bad enough if she embarrassed herself in some way or another, but if her parents thought that Starkey was weird because she didn't warn them about his expressionless face and monotone voice, then she'd never be able to forgive herself.

"That's all?"

"He's also kind of fixated on Turf War. It's his favorite thing in the whole world," Claire replied.

"I see. He might enjoy talking to your father, then." Michael was notorious for keeping track of the major-league Turf War teams, and he won almost every year in his work's fantasy league.

It was about four by the time that Charity and Claire returned (Claire had eaten lunch a little bit late), and Michael had hardly moved from his place at the table in the time that they were at the store.

However, the second that the door opened to admit Claire and Charity, he jumped up and started to assist them with the groceries as if if he had actually just been waiting for something to do.

Even so, the second he saw the flowers, his eyes widened in glee and he asked, "For me?"

"For you," Charity agreed, and Michael looked like a kid in a puppy store even as he kissed his wife.

Claire started to put away the ingredients so she wouldn't have to watch the sight that probably would assail Starkey's eyes at least once that night.

"Looks like a lot of ingredients," Michael commented as he cut the ends of the flowerstems and placed them in a vase , "What's the game plan?"

"I think we should start prep in a half an hour," Charity commented before she lay down on the couch. Claire took her position on the loveseat. "That way we can start cooking everything by the time five-fifteen rolls around."

"Why not start now?" Michael asked from the kitchen table.

"So we can rest our feet for a moment," Charity replied, and she waggled her sock-covered toes as if to illustrate her point.

Claire propped up her feet on the coffee table in front of her, and let out a long-suffering sigh. She didn't know what was worse: the fact that Starkey and her parents were going to meet, or that Starkey was going to be eating something that Claire had cooked for him.

She screwed her eyes shut and tried to push out every thought about what could potentially go wrong with the evening.

When she opened them, it was a quarter to five.

Apparently, she'd taken a nap when she didn't mean to, and she cursed the mere concept of the sneak-attack nap. It creeps up behind you and knocks you out, then steals your time and laughs like a supervillain.

"Let's start prep," Claire said with a yawn as she stood up and made her way into the kitchen. She stretched up on her tiptoes and arched her back forward. One by one, the vertebrae in her spine popped, and she let out a sigh of contentment.

Charity put down her copy of "Problem Sleuthers" magazine, and joined her daughter in the kitchen. Claire was tying an apron around her back, a simple black number that had a couple of flames along the bottom hem and read "I can stand the heat."

"What do you need?" Charity asked as she stood back and Claire started to get out some of the implements that they would need. As much as she appreciated her mom's advice, Claire was glad that she was taking the lead on this one, even though her mom could probably cook the meal much better.

"Could you start grating the cheese that we got earlier today?"

"Sure thing," Charity replied, and she started in with a grater and a block of gruyere on a cutting board.

Meanwhile, Claire rinsed the asparagus and began to chop off the stiff ends before she put them in a wire basket. Afterwards, she poured the milk into a saucepan with just enough heat under it and a roux in the bottom, added an onion piqué, and filled a pot with water to boil.

Charity had finished grating the gruyere and switched to cheddar, working on grating down the whole block while Claire pulled out a frying pan and put it on low heat. She started to finely dice the jalapeno when the doorbell rang.

Claire's heart stopped even as she stirred the impending béchamel sauce. She turned to see her dad going towards the door and immediately sprinted to cut him off.

"I got it! Don't worry, I got it!" she said in an attempt to placate her dad and reassure him that she had this situation under control and that no, she did not need his help.

"I guess I'll go and help your mother in the kitchen," Michael said, which prompted a very loud and very firm "No!" from Claire. Michael laughed that off and returned to his seat at the kitchen table with his book.

Claire opened the door hesitantly.

Starkey stood there with the same neutral expression as before, and there wasn't even a hint of a question in his eyes. So when he asked, "What was that about?" Claire was understandably surprised.

"Dad was offering to cook," Claire said just as she stepped aside. "Come on in. Make yourself at home."

Starkey crossed the threshold and began to remove his shoes, and it was only then that the gravity of the situation hit Claire like a sledgehammer to the back of her skull.

Starkey was in her house.

STARKEY was in HER HOUSE.

Starkey was IN her HOUSE.

She could have said that exactly twenty-nine more times, with a different combination of stresses each time, but all of them would have conveyed the same simple point: Claire was about to have an aneurysm because of the simple fact that Starkey was currently sharing the same meatspace with her in her family's home.

"Can... uh... Can I get you something to drink?" Claire asked, and she turned away from Starkey to hurriedly make her way into the kitchen so she wouldn't embarrass herself even further.

Of course, she should have probably waited for his response before she went off to shakily fill a glass with cranberry juice and give it to him.

"Yes, please," Starkey replied, though he didn't say what he wanted. It was either a case of "Anything will work," or "I trust your judgment," and Claire still couldn't tell which it was.

She ducked through the dining room and shakily got a cup (not a glass; knowing her luck she would have dropped and broken it) down from the cabinet and began to fill it with the cranberry juice she had bought earlier that day.

Which meant that she wasn't paying attention to the fact that Starkey and her dad were alone in the dining room together.

She almost dropped the cup.

"You must be Starkey," Michael said as he stood up and made his way over to Claire's captain, "Claire says a lot about you."

"It's nice to meet you," Starkey said, and Claire turned around to see her dad and her captain trading grips.

"Pleasure's all mine, kiddo. Take a seat," Michael said as he gestured to another seat at the table.

Starkey sat down just as Claire brought him the cup of juice, and Starkey thanked her with a nod.

Only now did he realize the obvious and say, "You're wearing an apron."

Claire was, in fact, wearing an apron. Starkey pointing this out to her made her feel very flustered and embarrassed, and she rubbed the back of her head sheepishly.

"I'm working on dinner," Claire explained, and she knew that her face was turning a color. She didn't know what color it was, but she knew that it was definitely A Color.

Starkey stared at her for a bit longer than she would have appreciated, and she felt herself growing hot under the collar at the fact, then said, "This wasn't your idea, was it?"

"It really wasn't," Claire admitted before she went back to the kitchen and started doing what she could to continue preparation.

Even as she returned to the kitchen, Charity stepped out to meet their guest. As she approached, Starkey stood up to greet her. "Ma'am," Starkey said.

"There's no need for that, now," Charity replied as she extended her hand towards him, "Charity. We spoke on the phone. It's nice to meet you in person."

"Thank you for having me, Charity. You have a lovely home," he said as he shook her hand, and Claire knew that he meant it. Starkey rarely said things he did not mean.

"Such a gentleman," Charity said as she returned to the kitchen to continue helping Claire."Your captain seems quite the dashing young man," she said once the two of them were in the kitchen together.

"Mom, please..." Claire complained. As she finished chopping the jalepeno and put it into the frying pan with some chorizo, she heard Starkey and her dad talking.

"So, you're a fan of the Turf War, hm?" Michael asked. Claire turned on the pot of water to boil.

"I'm working on being a coach, if that's what you mean."

"Who are some of your favorite players?"

"Past or present," Starkey said.

"Present," Michael replied.

"I think that my favorite pro right now is Ludwig Berra, but I also think that Vytari Popov could be a dark horse in the upcoming years," Starkey replied. None of these names made any sense to Claire, but clearly her dad caught on to what Starkey was saying. Claire started to form hamburger patties, a total of sixteen, from the ground beef. They were thinner than usual, but that was the point.

"Never really pegged you to like trash-talkers," Michael replied.

Claire stirred the fry-up in the pan with a spatula and drained off some of the grease before she spooned a little of the chorizo and jalapeno mixture into the middle of half of the patties, then used the other half to cover the mixture. She sealed it up with her fingers and stared at what would wind up becoming a total of eight stuffed burgers.

In the dining room, the conversation between Starkey and Michael continued. "It's a form of psychological warfare," Starkey replied nonchalantly, "Not one I'm any good at, mind you, but it's certainly more clever than squidbagging."

At Claire's side, Charity asked, "Do you want me to start making the sauce?"

"Yes, please," Claire responded, and Charity began to add the shredded cheese to the simmering béchamel a pinch at a time, stirring it in with a practiced and steady hand.

Meanwhile, Claire added a measure of salt to the now-boiling water, then waited a few moments before pouring in the box of penne. She left it uncovered so the penne could cook, turned the oven on to 375, and quickly washed the pan that she had used to make the stuffing for the burgers.

"We had different ways of disrespecting people back in my day," Michael said, "But to tell the truth, nothing makes me angrier than squidbagging. It's not just rude, but it's nasty, too. There are kids watching this, for crying out loud."

"I don't disagree with you," Starkey said, and there was a moment of silence between the two men as Michael tried to puzzle out whether or not Starkey was lying to him.

As if reading his mind, Starkey said, "I've been told I don't express emotion very well."

"Kid, a statue changes their facial expression more than you do," Michael said matter-of-factly.

"Dad!" Claire shouted from the kitchen. She looked up from the process of crushing a sleeve of Ritz crackers still in the sleeve to glare at her dad.

"You didn't tell me that it was like talking to a sphinx!" Michael proteted.

"Michael," Charity said firmly. She didn't look away from the now-thickening cheese sauce, but her tone ensured that he did not press any further.

There was a moment of silence from everyone before Michael let out a sigh, "I'm sorry, Starkey. I didn't mean to offend."

"You didn't offend me."

Michael stared at Starkey warily, then said, "Would you tell me if I had?"

"I feel like you're asking the wrong question," Starkey replied.

"Then what is the right question?"

"'Would I believe you if you told me I had?'"

"So you do have a sense of humor," Michael said with a laugh.

Throughout all of this, Claire had the feeling that Starkey had that same wild twinkle in his eyes that she had seen a couple of times before when he was really and truly having fun. Her gaze moved towards Starkey's juice glass and she saw that it was still mostly full. He raised it up to his lips and took another sip, and she let out an internal sigh of relief. At least he wasn't picking up Dason's weird habits.

"I do have one question for you, though," Michael asked as he raised a single finger.

"Which is?"

"Could you say 'I'm sorry, Dave. I can't let you do that.'"

Starkey stared at Michael for a moment, then said in his usual lack of inflection or tone, "I'm sorry, Dave. I can't let you do that."

Michael burst out laughing. Claire frowned at her dad and said firmly, "Dad."

"No, no," Starkey said, "I got the reference."

Charity called out to Claire, "Sauce is done," even as she added in the last spoonful of cottage cheese, and Claire took the pasta off the stove. She strained it in a colander in the sink, then tested one of the noodles. Logically, she should test the pasta before she strained it, but she knew this brand and the timing right.

Al dente, just enough tooth to be perfect for her purposes.

Claire let that cool for a moment while Charity put butter into the frying pan and began to sprinkle in the crushed Ritz crackers, frying and toasting them all at once. Afterwards, Claire took out a baking pan just in time for the oven to beep that it was heated up.

Claire poured the penne into the pan and called out, "Dad, could you turn on the grill, please?"

"Sure thing," he replied and stood up to go and handle the task.

Once he was gone, Starkey turned to face Claire and Charity and said, "I didn't know you could cook."

"You didn't ask," Claire replied bashfully.

"That's fair," Starkey replied, then continued, "Mrs. Charity, do you need any assistance with anything?"

Claire could see that he was a little restless. He was tapping a single index finger on the table like a very slow metronome.

"Ask Claire. She's the head chef tonight," Charity said as she pointed over at her daughter.

"No!" Claire said a little too quickly, "I don't need anything. Just say put, make yourself at home, be comfortable," she said, then laughed nervously.

Starkey blinked, then turned back to Michael when he came inside again.

"So how long have you been doing turf war, Starkey?" Michael asked. In the kitchen, Claire was putting the slightly-undercooked pasta into the bake pan and spreading it out so it lay in a single layer. Charity began to pour the cheese sauce on top of it and it flowed out of the saucepan in a steady ribbon of gooey goodness.

They topped it with the buttered and toasted crackers on top before popping it in the oven, and Claire gathered up the asparagus and the stuffed burgers to check on the grill's temperature.

"About three years," Starkey replied, "Give or take a couple of months."

"And what's your main?"

"Slosher Deco," Starkey replied.

"More of a support type, then?"

"At times. I can still hold my own in a brawl," Starkey replied.

"I was a blaster main back in my day," Michael reminisced as Claire began to put the burgers and the metal basket of asparagus onto the grill.

"Blasters are tricky. I could never get the hang of the range," Starkey admitted.

"They're not for everyone," Michael agreed, and Claire took off the apron. She hung it on a peg just near the entrance of the kitchen, and sat down next to Starkey while Charity sat next to Michael.

"We have a couple of minutes, still," Charity explained as she set down glasses of water for herself and Claire. Michael still had a cup of coffee in front of him, and Starkey still had cranberry juice.

"So," Michael said, and his voice was an ironic echo of earlier that day, "How did you two meet?"

Claire and Starkey looked at each other, both opened their mouths to tell the story, then stopped. Claire was much more embarrassed about it than Starkey was, of course, and he conceded, "You tell it. I'll fill in when you miss something."

And so they gave the sparknotes version of their first meeting. About halfway through, Claire stood up to go flip the burgers and asparagus on the grill, and returned to see that Starkey had picked up where she had left off, just when they had started turning the game around.

Claire sat down and listened to the remainder of the story, and Michael and Charity both wore smiles on their faces. Claire also noticed that they were holding hands above the table.

"Sounds like how we first met," Charity said, and Claire began to protest.

"Except you were on the opposite team and kept splatting me, and when you were telling me to get up, it was a taunt."

"And I'll never let you forget it," Charity teased. She leaned over and kissed Michael on the cheek. "Set the table. I'm going to get plates down."

Claire's parents stood up and left Claire and Starkey alone.

Starkey sipped his cranberry juice. Neither of them said anything.

"Your parents are nice," Starkey said, and Claire nodded vigorously, glad that he wasn't talking about those last comments her parents made and how they made steam want to come out of Claire's ears.

"I never imagined that they were the type to have played in a turf war, though," Starkey said, and Claire shrugged.

"They don't really talk about it. I know that's how they met, but that's about it."

"A lot of people meet through turf war," Starkey noted, just as an observation more than anything else.

"I'm just glad that I met you there," Claire said as she stood up, though she kept it quiet to the point where she didn't think that Starkey heard.

"What was that?"

"I need to check on the burgers," Claire said, stating the real reason she got up, "They should be just about done."

Sure enough, the burgers gleamed and glistened with grease, and she put them on a plate alongside the grilled asparagus, and killed the propane so the grill turned off.

Her mom was just pulling the macaroni and cheese out of the oven, and Claire began to plate the food as her mom scooped out everything for everyone.

As a final touch, Claire cut one of the lemons in half and squeezed it over the asparagus before she took two plates out to the table. She served herself and Starkey while her mom served the parents.

"It looks delicious, ladies," Michael said as he put his napkin in his lap.

Starkey echoed that sentiment, just not in words. He took a deep whiff of the scent wafting off the food and picked up his fork and knife to dig in. Claire saw that same fire in his eyes that she had seen before, and had to resist the urge to bounce in her seat.

She watched him take the first bite, chew, swallow. He looked up at her and said, "It's delicious."

Claire was on cloud nine. Not even the delicious meal that she had cooked could bring her any higher. The asparagus was grilled to perfection, and the lemon juice only brought the flavor out even further. The macaroni and cheese was gooey and delicious. The burgers were sealed perfectly and provided a little extra heat when their center touched the tongue.

Of course, even as spicy as the meal was, that didn't stop Michael from adding more hot sauce to the top of it.

He caught Starkey staring at him and offered the bottle of sauce.

"This is plenty spicy for me," Starkey said, then looked a little more closely at the bottle.

"Why does it have a biohazard sign on it?" Starkey asked, and even his normally-neutral face displayed a touch of confusion.

Michael's only response was to laugh and add another dash on top of one of his stuffed burgers.

"My dad eats so much spicy food that he's lost his sense of taste," Claire said, only half-joking. After all, there had to be at least some logical reason as to why Michael was such a terrible cook while his wife and daughter could hold their own in the kitchen.

Starkey stared at Michael for a second. For a moment, Claire thought she saw a twitch of a finger, enough of a desire to reach out and take the bottle for himself, though she couldn't tell whether it was because he also liked spicy food or because he never wanted to back down from a challenge.

Instead of removing the hot sauce bottle's cap and chugging it like a bottle of water, Starkey just asked, "Where is your bathroom?" and stood up.

"Down the hall, last door on the left," Charity said as she pointed at the hallway in question.

"Thank you," Starkey said as he left.

Once they heard the bathroom door close, Charity commented, "He seems nice. Very respectful."

"He's a good guy," Michael agreed, "Really hard to get a bead on, but still a good guy."

"Are you still talking about him as my captain?" Claire said sourly. Her voice was sour because she knew that both of her parents thought there was something going on between her and Starkey, and she hated that her parents were right.

"As a captain, and as a friend," Charity said, though the knowing gaze that she threw Claire's way seemed to say, "And maybe more."

Claire kept her focus on her food, and she tried to convince that the flush on her face was from the heat of the burger's stuffing. Thankfully, her parents didn't prod the point any further.

Starkey came back down the hallway and sat down. He had a look in his eyes like he wanted to talk about something, though he said nothing.

And so the rest of the meal passed in companiable conversation, and when Claire got up to collect the dishes, both her parents stood up and did everything that they could to beat her to the punch.

"What's the rule in this house?" Michael asked.  
Claire let out a sigh, "Whoever cooks doesn't have to do the dishes."

"That's right," he said as he carried the plates and silverware into the kitchen and got to work. Charity followed him, though it only looked like she was putting the leftovers in resealable containers.

"Go ahead and wait in the living room," Charity said as she began putting away the macaroni and cheese, "We'll be there in a moment."

Claire and Starkey stood up and made their way over, and Claire had to wave Starkey off from sitting in her dad's easy chair. It did look like the most comfortable seat in the house, but Michael got very grouchy whenever someone sat in his spot.

So Claire sat on her usual spot on the loveseat and Starkey took a seat on the couch so they were sitting diagonally from one another, and an awkward silence passed between them for a moment.

That was until Starkey broke it with something more awkward.

"I didn't know you knew how to sew."

Claire blanched and she started to stammer out pieces of words that were supposed to form a sentence, "How... Why... What..."

These beginnings of questions were enough for Starkey to answer on their own, and he replied, "Your door was wide open when I passed it to go to the bathroom. I looked inside a little."

All the color came surging back to Claire's face like a tsunami and she buried her face in her hands in embarrassment. "It's not polite to look inside a girl's room," she groaned.

"You'd do the same to me. I didn't walk in, though, so it's not like anything is out of place."

Claire had to admit to herself that if the opportunity arose, she would be unlikely to resist going into Starkey's room and taking a peek around. Briefly, she pondered what kind of stuff he'd have in his room.

"How many of those plushes did you make yourself?" he asked, as if she wasn't embarrassed enough by the whole thing already.

"About ten..." Claire admitted. She had about fifty stuffed animals, plushes, and other soft and cuddly friends neatly organized on shelves in her room. The majority had been gifts from her parents or gifts to herself, but she had made a few by hand and had gotten quite good at it over the years.

"Maybe the next time I come over, I'll be able to take a look at a couple of them," Starkey offered, and Claire immediately felt her face turn one solid color.

Despite herself and the implications of bringing Starkey into her room, she nodded, and she thought she saw something like a smile in her eyes.

Her stomach briefly turned into a butterfly sanctuary, and her parents sat down in their usual spots, with Charity on the couch with Starkey and Michael in his easy chair.

"So," Charity said, "My husband monopolized you earlier, so I'd like to pick your brain a bit regarding turf wars," Charity said, and Claire watched as Starkey and Charity began a conversation about tactics and maneuvers that Claire found quite surprising.

Starkey did most of the talking, but every time Charity brought up an alternative or a variation, Starkey looked ready to take notes.

The conversation went on so long that Claire lost track of time until Michael's watch beeped.

"Well," Michael said, "That's me. I have an early start tomorrow, so I'm going to retire for the night." He pushed himself up out of the chair with one of those grunts that only dads seem to do, and gave Claire and Charity each a kiss on the forehead before offering his hand to Starkey.

"It was a pleasure meeting you. I hope you come by again soon," Michael said as he made his way down the hall and into the master bedroom.

"The pleasure was all mine, Michael," Starkey replied, then looked to the two ladies with him. "I should probably leave as well. I don't want to overstay my welcome."

Charity and Claire both rose up alongside him, though Charity spoke first. 

"Starkey, it was so nice to have you over, and I agree that you should come by again soon. However, I have to go and get ready for bed, too," Charity said. "Claire, will you see our guest out?"

"Okay, Mom," Claire replied as Charity left and Claire and Starkey began walking towards the door.

"Thank you for inviting me over," Starkey said as he knelt down to put his shoes on.

"That was all mom's idea..." Claire said, still a little grumpy about the notion.

"It was still a nice time," Starkey said, "And I'm glad I got to learn about some of your other talents today."

Claire hadn't stopped blushing since he brought up the plushes in her room, and she couldn't blame it on spicy food any longer. "I'm just glad you had a good time," Claire said, though she kept her voice quiet.

Starkey finished tying his shoes and stood up at his full height. "I'll have to invite you over to my house to return the favor, sometime. Thank you for a good time and a great meal."

She could tell that Starkey wanted to do something else, say something else maybe, but she might have been fooling herself. She would have wanted him to hug her right then and there, or maybe give her a kiss on the cheek goodnight, but there was no way that would happen.

"I'll be going now," Starkey said as he turned towards the door. Claire hastily opened it for him even as he reached for the doorknob. At the very least, she could do that for him and see him out.

Starkey looked at her, unreadable as a blank notebook, gave her a simple nod, and said only, "Goodnight," before he walked out into the streetlight-lit avenue.

Claire closed the door behind her, and had to resist the urge to slump against the door in a combination of exhaustion and delight.

At least she would admit this much to herself: Today was a good day.


	6. Chapter 6

Ever since the mortifying dinner with her family and Starkey a week and change ago,

Claire was almost ashamed to admit to herself that she had been thinking about her Captain a lot, and not in the ways that one should think about their captain.  
So, she had taken every available precaution in order to make sure that she didn't focus on that, and instead focused on other things, like books. Or movies.

Or, in today's case, sewing more plushes. Claire had been working on this particular one intermittently for a couple of days, and today had been the most delicate part of the work.

It was a jellyfish, but not one of the ones that walked around Inkopolis and occasionally rode skateboards... or just stood there with one of their tentacles extended out to press on the  
ground.

It was a cartoon jellyfish, based off one that Claire had seen in an old human cartoon that had somehow managed to be incredibly close but also so far from how the future of sea life would be.

The squid character was so far off that it didn't make any sense at all, but she knew a couple of starfish that were... not inaccurate to the show.

She had finished sewing together more of the tentacles that would have to be hand-sewn onto the body, and set them aside as her phone started to buzz on the table.

Claire removed a thimble from her left index finger and answered the call. It was from an unknown number, so she was fully prepared to hang up if it was some telemarketer or other scheming... schemer.

"Claire!" came a chipper, bubbly voice. Somehow, the fact that they were talking over the phone did nothing to diminish Valentina's chipper attitude.

"Valentina?" Claire asked incredulously.

"You know it! I asked Starkey for your number so I could give you a call! The guys are hanging out today, so I figured that it would be nice for us to have a girls' day," Valentina said.

Claire didn't know how to feel about that. She didn't really have a lot of friends when she was growing up, so the idea of just calling someone up in order to ask them if they wanted to hang out was a little bit foreign to her. "Like? Is there a reason?" Claire asked.

"Nope!" Valentina said, and Claire's confusion increased twofold. 

"I... I don't know," Claire said, her voice betraying a lack of surety even if her words did not. 

"Awww, come on!" Valentina complained, "Dason's weird, Starkey's hard to talk to, and you're the only other girl on the team, so we gotta stick together! What do you say? Come on  
over? I'll buy you lunch afterwards!"

The mention of Starkey's name tore down the mental walls that Claire had put up and she struggled to erect them again in order to keep him out of her thoughts. Her mom had caught her  
all dreamy-eyed on two occasions, and after that, it had been a matter of keeping her focus on other things that were definitely not her Captain. While they were working as a team was one  
thing, but every other time was unacceptable.  
Claire cleared her mind and focused on the conversation. "Sure. I guess," she said, "What's your address?"

Valentina gave it and Claire plugged it into her phone's navigation program. "Holy carp,"she said into the receiver, "You live out in the middle of nowhere. I'm going to have to take two trains, a bus, and a ten minute walk to get to you."

"You don't have a car?" Valentina asked.

"My folks use them for work, and I don't have a license anyways," Claire said, and she could practically hear Valentina's pout through the reciever.

"Fine... how long do you think you'll be?"

Claire checked the time -it was ten past ten- and said, "I should be there about eleventhirty. I'll let you know."

"Great! I'll get the place cleaned up a bit. We're going to have a blast!"

Without even giving Claire a chance to reply, Valentina hung up, leaving Claire looking at her phone in confusion.  
Just when she thought that Valentina would be the only normal member of the team, this had to happen... Then again, compared to Starkey's emotionless expressions and Dason's... everything, Valentina really did seem normal, if a bit upbeat.

Claire pulled on a sweater to ward off the breeze that was outside, and grabbed a shoulder bag for her effects. She checked the GPS program again and tucked her phone into her pocket  
before she started to make her way to the train station.

The trip was as long as she expected but, fortunately, the trains weren't crowded and, even though she had people sitting on either side of her on the bus, there was nobody standing.  
When Claire got off the bus, she stood just off a residential street for a rather nice part of the city. The way she heard it, a lot of players in the Turf Wars wanted to move into the Moray Towers because they were some of the most upscale apartments in the city, with every one of them feeling like a penthouse.

The houses here made Moray Towers look like a certain author's basement that definitely does not have dead bodies stored in it, no matter the allegations.

Each of them likely qualified as a mansion, and Claire found herself staring about with an expression of shock and awe as she began to walk towards where the GPS said Valentina's house  
was.

It was just as big as all the others, and Claire almost expected a butler to answer the door when she rang the bell.

Instead, there was only Valentina's broadly-smiling face and a slightly-unexpected hug that squeezed Claire until she felt that she was going to squeak like a dog's chew toy.

"Valentina," Claire wheezed, "I can't really breathe."Valentina released her and Claire let out a slight cough before Valentina went right back into her bouncy, bubbly nature all over again. "Oh my gosh, I'm so excited you're here! And a little early too! I hope you didn't have any trouble on the way."

"No, no trouble," Claire said, "But, uh..."

She gestured at the grandiose doorway with a befuddled expression on her face and then looked back to Valentina, who watched what Claire was gesturing at.

"Oh!" Valentina said, "I forgot you haven't been over here before. Mom's an executive with the Turf War Organization Authority, so we're... a bit better off than other families." As if embarrassed, Valentina rubbed the back of her neck and gave Claire an awkward smile. "Come on in," she said as she grabbed Claire's hand and began dragging her into the house.

Claire only now noticed that Valentina wasn't wearing her usual touk, and that she had on a long-sleeved red and white shirt as opposed to her usual attire. Then again, it made sense since only a hobo, a tryhard, or someone who just really liked the look would wear their Turf war gear in everyday situations.

"My room's upstairs," Valentina said, "If you're hungry, we could always walk to the deli down the street."

Claire mainly marveled at the house. It was painted in cool tones that made her shiver just by looking at them: all blues and greens, occasionally a wall done in a slate grey. Whoever had done the paint job here had been very meticulous about the whole thing. To top it all off, there were a ragtag combination of high-quality paintings and family photoraphs that lined the walls, even as Claire and Valentina began climbing up that came to a landing before continuing deeper into the house.

Many of the photos were of a young Valentina with a woman that had to be her mother.

Claire couldn't help but notice that there were a few patches of paint that were a little darker than others, suspiciously in the shape of picture frames, as they made their way up the stairs. Once they reached the top, Valentina led the way into a room a few steps down the hall.

Valentina's room was... much girlier than Claire expected. The walls were done in a blue that made Claire think of berries and, if that wasn't enough, the bed was covered with a comforter that made the bed look a strawberry... that is if strawberries were gigantic and rectangular. And lumpy. Because the bed had apparently been hastily made.

Several plushes, not unlike the kind that Claire kept on her shelves, were scattered all over the room, even to the point of having several on the floor as if they had been abandoned during play. Dragons, seahorses, jellyfish-looking things with dead eyes and broad smiles, all in a rainbow of colors that strained Claire's vision. Desperate for a means of escape, she looked to the walls, which had several posters of music acts from Inkopolis. The Squid Sisters were well-represented, of course, but there were also a couple of other groups, including one called "Off the Hook."

Claire had never heard of them. They had to be pretty obscure.

The furnishings of the room, however, were simple in comparison to the color barrage that greeted Claire when she first walked into the room: A simple vanity with a mirror, a nightstand, a desk for her computer, and a bookcase that was nearly filled to the brim with books of... dubious quality. Most of them showcased a considerable amount of bosom, a whole lot of leg, and rippling pectoral muscles that seemed to glisten as if oiled.

And even though Claire stared at the bookcase and its dubious titles, Valentina didn't seem to have any sense of shame at all about the matter. She pulled out a pair of very large, very cushy bean bag chairs from her closet and tossed one at Claire before flopping on her own."Bean bag chairs?" Claire asked with a sense of incredulity. What was this? The 1960s?

"They're comfortable and squishy!" Valentina said as she wriggled herself deeper into the confines of the chair to emphasize the point.

Unamused, but rolling with the punches, Claire dropped her bean bag chair onto the ground and flopped onto it as well, sinking almost enough that the folds of the chair on either side of her nearly started to envelop her.

Claire stared at Valentina, who only grinned back in return.

"So... what do you wanna do?" Valentina asked.

"I thought you were the one with the plan."

"Nah. This was about it. Unless you want to read?"

"No thanks," Claire said a little too quickly.

Valentina almost pouted, but Claire could see that she was trying to suppress a smile more than anything else.

"We could always style each other's tentacles?" Valentina suggested, "I have a couple of beauty magazines around here, see if we find something that suits our fancy?"

Claire smiled at the notion. She and her mom would sometimes get together and style each other's tentacles when Dad was out of town on business. "Sure," Claire said to Valentina as she stood up and gestured towards the Vanity. "Right here look good to you?

"You take a seat," Valentina said as she stood up as well. "I'll go and get the magazines."

Within minutes, Valentina was teasing at the tentacles on Claire's head with a small prod that had a metal roller on the end of it. Inklings could control the general shape of their head tentacles, but finer adjustments required outside intervention. That's where the prod came into play. Inkling stylists used tools like this in order to tease their client's tentacles into different positions with a chill that made the tentacles pull away from the prod, and people especially skilled in that regard were able to coax tentacles into what appeared to be gravity-defying displays.

Claire was flipping through a magazine while Valentina tried to steady her hand with the tool and get back into the swing of things. From the looks of it, Valentina was a little rougher around the edges than Claire was.

"It's been a while since I've done this," Valentina said, as if confirming Claire's suspicions, and she set the tool down to look over Claire's shoulder.

Claire had stopped on a page with an inkling that had six tentacles atop her head arranged in a curtain around it, longer in the front and shorter in the back. "I think I want to try this one," Claire said as she looked back up at Valentina.

"I think I can manage that. The tough part will be squaring the edges, but I think we can work it," Valentina said before she rested a finger under Claire's chin. "Give me length to about here."

The two longer tentacles towards Claire's front snapped short and the rest of them lengthened out slightly before Valentina began to use the tool with a slow, steady hand. She started in the front, trying to square off each of the tentacles so they flowed seamlessly into one another into a sweep towards the back of Claire's head, and she occasionally checked the picture to make sure that she was doing the job right.

"So," Valentina said after a moment. Her voice was soft, as if she didn't want to break her own concentration.

"So?" Claire asked as she watched Valentina work in the vanity mirror.

"How are you liking our little team so far?"

"You mean 'the Bad Squiddos'?" Claire asked wryly.

"Listen, I didn't choose the name," Valentina said as she held up her hands defensively.

She went back to work almost immediately, though.

"I... enjoy it. It's taking a little while to get used to, though," Claire said.

"Why's that?" Valentina asked as she moved on to square off the next tentacle. It looked pretty good, for a start.

"Because everyone's so... different."

"That's why we're called people, Claire," Valentina teased as she pulled back to inspect her handiwork.

"That's not what I meant," Claire almost whined as Valentina went back to work.

"I know what you mean," Valentina said as she continued to work.

"Is Starkey always that..."

"Unreadable?" Valentina finished.

"Yes," Claire said as she drooped her head unconsciously. Luckily, Valentina pulled the tool away just in time.

"Not always," Valentina said. "It just takes a lot of time to realize what he's thinking.

"Usually it's his eyes that give it away for you."

"Oh," Claire said in understanding, "How long did it take you?"

"A couple of months, to tell the truth. I was mainly paying attention to what he was saying rather than how he was saying it," Valentina admitted.

"That's worked for you?"

"Starkey's not the kind of guy to lie, Claire," Valentina said as she moved around to the other side of Claire's head and started to square off that side, too.

An honest captain... Claire had the feeling she really lucked out on that. As if reading Claire's mind, Valentina continued.

"He's more concerned about the team than he is about the game, and he's the kind to get really concerned about the game," Valentina explained.

"And what about you?" Claire asked.

Valentina shrugged, "It seemed like fun. Dason did it, and he was having a good time, so I joined in as well."

"You two are close?"

"Very," Valentina said with a note of satisfaction.

"So are you two... uh..." Claire didn't want to say it.

"No," Valentina said so flatly that it almost reached the level of emotionlessness that Starkey had. If she had dropped the feeling of "I've had this question asked to me so many times that I'm getting sick of it," then the voice would have been almost spot-on.

"Sorry," Claire said as she hunched her shoulders. Once again, Valentina pulled her hand back.

"You don't have to apologize. He and I just get asked that question a lot," Valentina said as she gently pushed on Claire's shoulders to bring them down from her ears.

"So what is he to you?" Claire asked.

There was a noted pause and lack of motion from Valentina before she started moving again.

"Important," was all she said.

Claire didn't press the line of questioning further as Valentina finished squaring things off and began to ease the edges into an angle that went from her chin to the back of her head."So," Valentina said, her voice soft again, as if she was creeping around in a bear's den.

"What got you into turf war?"

"My folks, at first," Claire said as her eyes lost their focus and she started to think about the memories.  
"Dad and Mom used to play back when they were young. It's how they met. I didn't ask anything further about it and they don't really tell me. But they got me my first gear for Squidsmas one year, and I kind of... picked it up. I just went out and played a few matches, but I stopped being interested."

"Why?" Valentina asked. Her hand was steady as a rock, now.

"I wasn't any good at it. I like doing things that I'm good at," Claire said, almost defensively.

"You and everyone else," Valentina said, though her focus seemed to be on Claire's tentacles.

"What do you mean?" Claire asked.

Valentina finished working one of the edges before she answered, and sat up to look at her handiwork from every angle. "A lot of people don't like feeling bad at something when they first start out. Spoiler: They're going to. A lot of things that are worth doing require practice. And just from a couple of weeks with us, you're already starting to show really huge signs of improvement. Do you feel that you're doing any better?"

Claire felt Valentina starting to work again before she responded. There had been a lot of improvements she'd made over the course of the past weeks, short a time as it was. She'd managed to get a lot better at throwing her suction bombs, and training with Dason had made sure that her targeting with her Splatling was spot on and that it never wavered.

"I think I am," Claire said. "It's little things, but I feel like I'm less of a load and more of a teammate than when I first started."

"I think so too," Valentina agreed as she set the tool down and grabbed a hand mirror.

She used it to reflect the back of Claire's head into the vanity mirror, and Claire smiled.

"You're not as rusty as you think you are," Claire said, satisfied. "Now you sit down. I'll see how far out of practice I am."

Claire stood up and swapped places with Valentina, and they exchanged the magazine for the prod. Claire tested it on a finger and found that it still had a good charge. Not too cold, but  
not warm enough to be ineffective either. She started to pace around and look at Valentina's tentacles, only to have a seahorse plush squeak underfoot.

Not so much because of startlement, but because she didn't want to damage any of Valentina's stuff, Claire jumped away with a yelp. She looked down at a periwinkle blue seahorse and picked it up gingerly. "Where would you like me to put this?" she asked.

Valentina looked away from the magazine at the plush, slightly smudged by Claire's footstep. She took the plush from Claire's hand and brushed the dirt off of it, making it appear as good as new before she said, "Bad and naughty seahorses get placed in the containment bin to atone for their sins."

With a maneuver like she was throwing a basketball, Valentina threw the seahorse into the hamper next to her closet and gave Claire a wide smile. "He'll be fine. I'll wash him next time I do laundry."

Claire blinked at the difference between how she treated her plushes and how Valentina did. Then again, Claire wouldn't really feel comfortable being rough with them because a lot of hers were hand-made. Valentina looked back to the magazine and Claire peered over her shoulder as she searched. After a moment, Valentina said "This one" and tapped a picture of an inkling who appeared to have a braid going straight down the middle of her scalp and hanging off the back of her head to sway above her neck. 

Claire looked at the photo and hummed to herself. "I think I can do that... it looks tricky, but I think I can."

"Let's do it!" Valentina said excitedly as she straightened up and adjusted her tentacles accordingly. Within no time, there were three long tentacles hanging off the front of her head while the rest had been reduced to the weird stubble that allowed Inklings to adjust their tentacles as they saw fit.

Claire frowned at the setup, then at the picture. "I need you to give me three more here," she said as she drew a line across the middle of Valentina's scalp, then another towards the back of her head, "And here. And shorten up the ones in the front."

Valentina obliged, but there was an expression of confusion on her face. "What for?"

"If we're going to keep the braid close to your head, then we need to use more tentacles along your scalp," Claire explained. She started to braid the first set, over under, over under until it came to the second set of tentacles at the crown of Valentina's head.

Before she continued the braid, she used the prod in order to taper out the tentacles at the front so they would disappear under the second set, then braided them in with the second set until  
they ran out.

She repeated the process with the third set, but as Claire's fingers started to weave the tentacles together with that same under-over, over-under pattern that she'd been using before, she noticed a thin white scar that ran diagonally along the base of Valentina's skull.

"What happened?" Claire asked, and Valentina was silent for a moment. "I was in an accident," Valentina said gravely, clearly not wanting to talk about the issue.

Claire left it at that, a little abashed even though Valentina couldn't see it, and the braid ended somewhere at Valentina's shoulders. In some ways, she looked like one of the male inklings that chose to have the short tentacle spikes running in a strip down the middle of his head, but Valentina's suited her a little more.

"Let me just... change the color," Valentina said as she adjusted her tentacles to an almost lilac color before she stood up and looked at Claire.

Surprisingly, Valentina frowned, and she went over to her closet and rummaged around inside before she came out with a beret that she placed artistically on Claire's head. And by "artistically," we mean "slightly off-kilter."

Claire looked at herself in the mirror, then back at Valentina, then shrugged with a sense of confusion.

Valentina grinned widely and said, "Say 'Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?'"

Claire and her tentacles both turned a color that was reserved for beets and overripe tomatoes, and Valentina laughed.

"I know exactly what that means!" Claire said indignantly, and Valentina's laugh subsided to a snicker.

"Seriously, though. It's a good look on you."

Claire's thoughts briefly drifted and she wondered what Starkey would think of the look, and while she felt less hot under the collar, she definitelyhad spots of color in her cheeks. The mental barriers that she had put up so cautiously came crumbling down yet again.

"Thinking about the captain?"

Clearly, it showed on her face.

"What?" Claire said defensively, "No!"

"You look like you're about to swoon," Valentina teased as she stood up and began to prod at Claire with a finger.

"I'm not going to swoon!" Claire said as Valentina started to laugh raucously.

"I'm kidding," Valentina said as she draped one arm across Claire's shoulders and began to move towards the door. "I'm hungry. Are you hungry?"

"I could eat..." Claire sulked.

"Oh come on," Valentina said as she led the way out of her house. She paused to grab a light sweater from the back of a chair and pulled it on before they left together. "There's no reason to be all grouchy because I'm pointing out the truth."

"You're not, though," Claire said. It was a convincing lie. Unless you had ears.

"Claire, honey," Valentina said, sounding like an older sister for a brief moment, "You're not fooling anyone except for maybe Starkey, and I think that he's starting to suspect."

They were three steps out of the house when Claire paused. The beret was still sitting on her head and felt a little weird in the breeze. She wasn't the type to wear hats.

"W... what? You think he knows?" Claire asked.

"If he doesn't, then he's either blind, stupid, or fixated on something else," Valentina said as she turned around to get Claire and guiding her down the street.

The implications made Claire's ink run cold, even as she felt her face heat up at the thought of what Starkey would say in response to her feelings.

"I wish Dason was here," Claire said. Now it was Valentina's turn to stop dead in her tracks.

"Why?"

"He'd be able to stop you from making fun of me."

Valentina frowned and pulled Claire in for a hug. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you so much."

"It's ok..." Claire said, once again like a liar.

"He honestly doesn't know. All that guy ever thinks about is Turf War. I don't know if he's ever felt romantic feelings towards anyone in his life, or what form they would take."

Claire found herself laughing quietly despite it all. "I get the feeling that his idea of a romantic gift is a new turf war weapon."

Valentina joined in with the laugh as well and they kept on walking out of the housing development and across the street where a place called "Zeke's Deli" had a green neon sign on the front of the strip mall. "Yeah," Valentina agreed, "He'd probably say something like 'I got you a cannon. People love cannons.'"

Claire laughed at that harder than she had any right to, and she managed to gasp out, "He would never say that!"

"Let a girl dream," Valentina said, still chuckling despite the comment about what Starkey would and would not do.

Despite the banter with regards to their captain, they kept on walking towards the deli with giggles in their throats that sometimes erupted into more laughter. This continued even as  
they walked in and made their way to the counter to place their order.Claire needed a moment. There was a lot on the menu that she had no idea what it was, but there were still some things that she was familiar with.

"I'll have a turkey club with a side of chips," Claire said to the urchin behind the counter, who rung her up wordlessly. When Claire reached for her wallet to pay, Valentina reached out and stopped her.

In response to Claire's confused stare, Valentina only smiled broadly and said, "My treat."

Well, Claire was not going to argue. She put her wallet away and stepped aside so Valentina could order her chopped liver and beef tongue sandwich (which Claire thought was an absolutely insane thing to eat, reserved only for crazy people that thought they could actually make a living out of writing). After that, all that was left was to pay.

The urchin, still not saying a word, reached under the counter and pulled up a stick with a card reading "26" at the top and handed them a pair of drink glasses. The cash register dinged, and the urchin only pointed towards the seating area with one hand while he beckoned the next people in line with the other.

There was no need to comment on the poor service. People that worked in food service were likely cranky as all get-out on a good day, and really shouldn't have that held against them.

They filled up their drinks and sat down with Claire staring down at her cup of diet cola while Valentina practically sprawled across her side of the booth and watched Claire carefully.

"Whatcha thinkin about?" Valentina asked.

"Nothing," Claire said, and it was true for the most part. She was just enjoying the quiet between the two of them for the time being, but the time for silence had passed, apparently.

"How do you think your tentacles turned out?" Valentina asked.

"I like them," Claire said, "You were pretty good with the prod. I think the beret was a little much, though."

"It just makes the look perfect," Valentina said as she waved Claire's comment off.

Claire sighed with a slight smile on her face and looked out the window at the street that was the same kind of busy as an office worker that only wanted to look like he was being productive.

She stopped when she heard the snap of a camera.

Claire straightened up and stared at Valentina with an incensed expression as the latter chuckled and began typing out a message, all while leaning back to keep the phone out of Claire's reach.

"You better not be sending that to Starkey!" Claire protested. She could only imagine how Starkey would react if he saw her with this style. He'd probably think it looked weird or stupid or ugly.

"Nope, I'm sending it to Dason," Valentina said as she hit "send" and put the phone down.

Somehow, Claire thought that was worse.

"Why would you do that?" Claire asked despondently.

"Because I could," Valentina said with a shrug.

"He doesn't even know me that well," Claire complained.

"And? You look good. Might as well show the world."

"I don't want the whole world to see, though!"

"You could always just change it back," Valentina pointed out.Claire realized that she could, and almost started to do so, but stopped herself just short of pulling the trigger. Valentina had put in a lot of work to it... the least she could do was wear it for a couple of days.

"I don't want to," Claire said as she stared back into her cola.

"Why not?" Valentina asked, though there was a twinkle in her eyes that indicated that she knew the truth of the matter.

"Because you worked really hard on it and it would feel like I'm throwing your hard work away," Claire said.

Valentina's face split into a grin, and her hand reached out to bump knuckles with Claire.

Reluctantly, Claire obliged her.

"It's nice having a friend on this team. Like, a real one," Valentina said as she put her elbows on the table, meshed her fingers together, and rested her chin on the back of her hands.

"Wait," Claire said in mild confusion. "If Dason's not a real friend, then what is he?"

"Important," Valentina said without skipping a beat and in a tone that brokered no further questions on the matter.

Claire paused to consider that, then found herself smiling right back at Valentina. "Yeah. It's nice to have a real friend on your team."

The two girls shared a contented silence up until an urchin that wore the same unamused expression as the one behind the counter came up with their order, placing the dishes in front of  
the appropriate parties. The urchin looked back and forth between the two of them and said only,

"Nice 'dos," before walking away.

The meal that followed was anything but silent, with Claire trying to enjoy her club sandwich in peace while Valentina snickered like a madwoman and skewered slices of beef  
tongue on her fork before trying to put them on Claire's plate.

"Stop licking my plate!" Claire complained. It was tongue, therefore that had to be what it was doing: Licking her plate.

"I'm not licking your plate, the sea cow is licking your plate," Valentina retorted as she made another advance.

"Nooo!" Claire groaned as she pulled away her plate and held it up so it would be out of Valentina's reach of everything save for Valentina climbing on and over the table.

Claire's phone buzzed, and she held the dish over her head with one hand while she checked the message.

 **Starkey:** That's a good look on you.

Claire almost dropped the plate and stared at Valentina, who pulled her fork back with a confused expression.

"What?" Valentina asked.

"TRAITOR!" Claire yelled as she started to reach for Valentina's throat with grabby hands that were never going to reach. Valentina just laughed as she scooted out of reach.

"You couldn't just leave it be?!" Claire whined, "Now he's going to know because you told him!"

"I doubt it," Valentina said with a giggle as she grabbed Claire's wrists and maneuvered them so there was a deficit of grabby hands in her general direction. "Your secret is safe with me. Besides, I sent him a selfie too, so he knows that we both did our hair."

Claire sulked and poked at her food with a single finger before muttering, "Meanie..."Though, she supposed, if her crush saying that she looked nice and possibly knowing about her feelings was the worst thing that happened to her today, it was a good day.

Of course, that would mean that she'd have to stop the incursion of beef tongue onto her plate, because Valentina had clearly taken Claire's brief moment of daydreaming as an opportunity to press the attack.

"Stop licking my plate!"

"I'm not licking your plate!!!"

Even if Valentina acted like a kid sometimes, Claire was glad for the company, no matter their arguments. Somehow, it made her feel at home, like her team had finally filled a hole in her life.

She could get used to this feeling.


	7. Chapter 7

“Alright, everyone,” Starkey said as they walked down the hall of the building’s entryway, weapons at ease, “Remember to keep an eye out for those long sight lines, and mind your corners.”

Claire swallowed as they passed a sign that said “Moray Towers.” Their team had been winning more and more in the week since Claire and Valentina’s get-together, to the point where they were currently on a six-game win streak.

Starkey was determined to make it seven.

The group headed towards the elevator area where an anemone with a perpetual scowl and a much cheerier clownfish living in his tentacles awaited them with a small tray of clip-on chips that would connect them to the respawn area.

Claire took hers and clipped it to the collar of her shirt. Dason’s went on one of the straps of his gas mask while Valentina pinned hers to one of the sleeves of her top. Starkey put his on the inside of a pocket with a practiced ease, as if he had done this a thousand times before.

The anemone looked up from his watched and snarled, “Alright, folks. Get going. Match starts in thirty.”

It was a simple process, getting from the green room to the spawn for the map. All one had to do was to dive into a tube of fast-flowing ink and ride it all the way to the spawn, however far away it might be. Some conspiracy theorists out there claimed that it was based on technology that members of the various splatoons found during the last Great Turf War with the Octarians, but there we plenty of inklings out there that were xenophobic enough to omit that knowledge, even if it was truth.

Everyone dove in one right after the other. First Starkey, then Dason and Valentina. Claire took a deep breath, more to steady herself than for the oxygen, and jumped in, taking her squid form and riding the ink at what felt like an impossible speed.

She had the distinct sensation of rising. A long time ago, she had gone to an amusement park and a roller coaster there had taken her up so high that only skyscrapers off in the distance still seemed big.

Ever since then, she knew what ascension felt like.

Claire ascended, and they came out on the roof of one side of Moray Towers.

"Remember your positions," Starkey reminded everyone. He always did this before a match, even though they had done it a couple dozen times since Claire had joined the team. "Wait for your two-on-ones. Let's win this."

The start bell rang, and Claire started spinning up. She saw Starkey, Dason, and Valentina dive forward into a spray of ink made by Starkey and Valentina's weapons, and she got to work inking their ramps. It was an almost tedious process, but she had learned very early on that every bit of inked turf counted.

She couldn't have read Starkey's face when they lost by 0.1% early on in her career, but she knew that he had to be furious. Not with the team, of course, but just in general.

Claire only had time to do a quick, spotty job of inking because she could already see that Starkey and Valentina were fighting for the middle of the map while Dason looped around and waited for a passerby to come into his line of fire. She needed to go out and support them.

She inked three ramps and as much of the platforms as she could spare, leaving enough for her teammates to build up their special if the needed the emergency boost, and dove down on the right hand side of the map, where there was plenty of cover and lots of surfaces for her to put her suction bombs on.

For safety's sake, she lobbed one out down the corridor and heard a surprised yelp from a female inkling as she dove forward into her own ink... right into Claire's line of fire.

She opened up with her splatling, covering the ground and then the enemy inkling enough to splat her, and kept moving.

As she walked through the gear that sank slowly into the ink (a squelcher, by the look of things), she felt someone watching her, and hearkened back to a lesson that Valentina had taught her during one of their practice sessions.

"If you feel like you're being watched on the splatterfield, you probably are."

It was at that point that Dason had fired off a lance of ink from a charger just past Claire's nose.

So Claire moved as quickly as she could and paused for a split second on impulse upon seeing a burst bomb lobbed her way. She backed up and saw a thick, powerful spray of enemy ink appear across her path, just where she'd been swimming a second ago.

She came up and started to re-ink the turf while Starkey led a push a little deeper into the enemy base and Dason managed to catch a pair of people out of position (including the one that had lobbed the burst bomb at her). Her gaze shifted towards where the shot came from, but the space was empty.

Whoever the charger was, they were good.

Claire's distraction cost her, because the squelcher from before came diving down and smacked her with a few quick shots that sent her back to spawn, causing her to lose her special in the process.

What passed through Claire's head was a quick bout of sadness, but she shook it off and started diving back down in order to reclaim the ground that she had lost because of her distraction.

She dropped practically right on top of one inkling's head and splatted him with a salvo from her splatling, then quickly pulled up the map to see where she was needed.

Both teams were pretty even, and Dason was doing his job of keeping the enemy team suppressed, even though they kept on pushing back. The enemy team had a squelcher, an N-Zap 89, an E-Liter, and an Aerospray, so it was no surprise that they were managing to keep their turf inked well despite the fact that Dason's crowd control kept them back.

Claire was needed on the left side of the center map. Her special was almost charged, and Dason had three people pressing the attack on him and was losing ground quickly.

Claire pushed forward, lobbing a suction bomb on an area heavy with enemy ink, and that was enough to finish charging her special.

She popped the inkzooka, aiming carefully down the corridor and waited, patiently, before squeezing off her first shot. This was designed to cut the enemy off, but it still managed to splat one of the enemy as they jumped through the air in pursuit of Dason.

The next shot cut across and splatted another enemy as Dason moved back towards her, relying on her aim to cover him, and the third backed off, clearly choosing discretion as the better part of valor.

Dason looked at her as she fired off her last two shots, mainly intended as suppressing fire more than anything else, and gave a firm nod. It was likely the closest thing to a "booyah" that she would hear out of him all day.

Then it came again. Her hackles rose and she dove forward, launching into the ink in front of her just as another E-Liter shot split the air behind her.

There was that familiar "crack" that came with all charger shots, but there was something distinctly different about these ones. E-Liters were loud and insanely powerful, it was true. But there was something about these shots that seemed a lot more dangerous, and Claire hid behind the wall for a second in squid form before she moved again.

The match was starting to come to a close, and they had a solid push on the enemy team, but anything could change in that last minute.

She started inking turf that was lost while Dason was under fire, and she felt that aura of menace a third time. Starkey was right behind her, covering her as he had that first game that they played together, so she knew that she would be okay. She trusted her captain to watch her back.

And he did.

"Get down!" he said, and his hands shoved her back so she went stumbling forward. What surprised her wasn't the action, but rather the force in his voice that had never been there prior. Even when she had messed up during their practices, or a last-minute play had turned costly in a match, his voice was always that same calm, neutral tone that it always had been.

This time was different, even as she stumbled forward and watched the stream of ink jetting towards his head. Starkey moved at the last minute, a jerk of his body that ensured that the ink only clipped him, but he still stumbled, and his body jerked back.

A couple of steps backwards took him over the ledge, and he disappeared back to spawn.

Claire started to say something, but the enemy squelcher jumped on top of her with a statement of "Surprise motherf-!"

Splat.

Claire respawned and looked over to see Starkey still standing there. She frowned at him for a second. He was always the first back into the fight the second he respawned, but now he stood, rubbing at his face.

There was still a splatter of the enemy ink on his face, just around the outer edge of his left eye.

And he seemed shaken.

"Starkey?" Claire asked, her voice small, "Are you okay?"

"Hm?" Starkey said, her voice pulling him out of his own little world, "Yeah. Fine. Just... I'm fine."

That, more than anything else was worrying. He had never hesitated like that before in the time that she knew him, and she was pretty sure that Dason and Valentina had never seen him like that either. He was sweating bullets, his hands appeared unsteady even as he tightened a white-knuckled grip on his slosher, and he had to shake his head as if clearing the cobwebs off his thoughts.

He was shaken.

Claire tried really hard not to be shaken too.

"We still have thirty seconds and a good lead," Starkey said, a bit more of his usual neutrality returned to his voice. It was still not the voice that Claire remembered, though.

"Let's finish this. Try and make sure that charger doesn't hit anyone else," he said before he super-jumped back into the fray.

Claire took to the ground, inking spots that had been claimed by the enemy team even as her three teammates pushed back against the enemy. It was a matter of going through the motions, and she didn't see hide nor hair of any member of the enemy team.

In fact, as she checked the map for a brief moment, she saw that the E-Liter had left the match.

There was no way that was a coincidence.

Then again, she didn't want to give it too much thought even as the buzzer went off.

Judd declared it a victory for Claire and her team, and they all had a sense of satisfaction about them even as they returned to the green room to prepare for the next match.

However, as they came back, Claire heard the voice of a member of the enemy team shouting and caterwauling, saying some very unpleasant things.

"I swear to the Great Zapfish, I see that squid again, I'm going to break my foot off so far up their ass that they'll sneeze my damn shoelaces!" the Aerospray from the previous match said. From the expression on his teammate's faces, they were of a similar sentiment.

"It's FUCKING EMBARRASSING!" he said as he kicked a trash can and dropped down onto a bench in the waiting room with his head in his hands.

"Hey," Starkey said. He was still pale, sweaty, and moved a little more carefully than he usually would, "Sorry about your teammate leaving."

"It wasn't just the outie," the aerospray said as he gestured vaguely everywhere. "That wanker shows up, does nothing the whole damn match, then disappears after getting one splat! SHIT!"

Claire licked her lips nervously. She could taste his salt from here.

"Still, looks like you're pretty roughed-up, man," the aerospray said after regaining some of his composure and looking up at Starkey. "Did you... uh... did you have that mark before we got into the match?"

Claire looked at Starkey's face and her eyes widened.

The stain that had been on his face just after they respawned was still there, and it was shifting through a couple of colors before settling on a forest green, and even the change in colors made Starkey wince in pain. "No. Do you know anything about them?"

"Aside from the fact that they're a damn coward?" the aerospray said as he crossed his arms, "No. Nothing."

"That's all, then. Sorry to bother you, and sorry about the match," Starkey said as he turned on his heels and started to walk off. "It always sucks when someone leaves for... for..."

Starkey stumbled, and Claire and Dason moved to catch him. His body was barely able to stay upright by itself, and Starkey blinked several times as he tried to bring his eyes back into focus.

Claire felt her stomach turn to ice, and she opened her mouth to say something, but Valentina and the aerospray already had their phones out to call for an ambulance.

"I'm alright," Starkey said, like a liar, "I just need to sit down and catch my breath."

"Starkey, you're not okay," Claire said as she crouched in front of him, "You haven't been alright since you... since you took that shot."

Since you took that shot that was meant for me, she wanted to say, but guilting herself wouldn't do anything to help them out at this point.

She and Dason helped Starkey down onto a bench, making sure that he stayed sitting upright instead of letting him relax onto his back. Starkey's head bobbed slightly, like it was a puppet cut loose from its strings, and he remained silent.

"Hello?" Valentina said. Claire barely heard her, and she felt the ink drain from her face as Starkey struggled to keep his eyes open, like a child that was trying not to fall asleep during storytime.

"We need an ambulance at Moray Towers. I think my friend is hurt."


	8. Chapter 8

The EMT team arrived and gave Starkey a quick once-over before they escorted him into the ambulance and drove off. They left with a roar of the engine and a blaring of the siren, leaving only his worried teammates behind.

"Do you think he's okay?" Claire asked as she looked over at Valentina and Dason.

Dason's back was rigid as a flagpole, and his hands were balled into fists at his sides. Even someone that didn't know him would be able to tell that he was furious.

"The Captain's tough," Valentina said, but there was a note of unsurety in her voice, as if she had just seen an iron statue become dented.

"He'll make it through," she said with a little more conviction, and her glance down at Claire was accompanied by the smile of an older sister that was trying to assure a younger sibling that everything would be alright, even though they weren't positive themselves.

"Did they say where he was going?" Claire asked.

"Inkopolis General," Dason replied, and there was tension in his voice that was so thick you wouldn't be able to cut it with a sword.

"We should go," Claire said, and even a casual listener could tell that she was struggling to keep her voice steady. She took a deep breath as if she were a swimmer about to take the high dive, and led the way out of the locker room.

She didn't check to see if Dason and Valentina were following her, but she could tell just from Dason's quiet footsteps that at least one of them was right behind.

Between the wait for the train, the actual train ride, and the walk to the hospital, they got there in a little under a half an hour, though they knew that the abmulance ride had only taken somewhere in the neighborhood of ten minutes at the absolute most.

They left their turf war gear in a couple of lockers just inside the entrance, since there were no weapons allowed inside the hospital, and Valentina made her way up to the front desk.

Claire and Dason hung back as Valentina talked to the receptionist, the air a little uneasy between them.

"Did you see who hit him?" Claire asked, her voice steady despite herself.

Dason shook his head in a negative. There was almost a form of static wafting off of him that made even the air around him uncomfortable to be in.

Claire tried to process the events of the match. She'd been under fire from that E-Liter a total of three times, and the third had hit Starkey. After that, they'd just up and left the match without so much as a goodbye.

A lot of questions were passing through Claire's head, and none of them were pleasant.

"Did you get shot at by an E-Liter at all?" Claire asked.

Another pause, then Dason shook his head again.

So Dason, who had been on crowd control duty, hadn't even seen the enemy E-Liter, and had not come under fire from them either.

The implications that went through Claire's head were unpleasant, but she was sure that they were born of worry, so she pushed them aside as Valentina came back.

"He's on the fourth floor," Valentina said, "Room thirteen. Apparently, he didn't need surgery, so at least we have that going for us."

Relief washed over Claire at the prospect, and even Dason relaxed. It couldn't have been that bad if he didn't need surgery. At least that's what she had hoped.

Claire had to resist the urge to run to the elevator just so she could see him again, and settled for a brisk walk instead.

Even so, the climb up the elevator shaft seemed to last forever, and while they only stopped once, Claire considered that to be much more than the inconvenience that it was.

Claire didn't stop herself from running down the hallway to room 4-13, and saw a horseshoe crab much like Sheldon making his way out of the room and closing the door politely behind himself. He turned to walk down the hallway and paused, a smile on his face.

"You must be Starkey's friends," he said politely.

"Um... yes," Claire said, a little surprised at the coincidence of all of this. Then again, as a wise turtle once said: "there are no coincidences."

"Please," the crab said as he gestured to a bank of chairs just a little further down the hall, "Take a seat. Let's talk for a bit."

Claire exchanged glances with Dason and Valentina and shrugged. They didn't really have anything to fear from this crab. After all, he was wearing a lab coat in a hospital, and he was carrying a clipboard. Those three things tend to give someone an aura of authority, all while convincing people that they know what they're doing.

While some people might use that appearance for nefarious purposes, such as a certain writer that has a minor history of arson that was never revealed to the public and cannot be proven, Claire had the distinct feeling that the horseshoe crab had good intentions.

Once the three inklings were seated, the crab went down the line and shook hands with each of them. "My name," he said, "Is Alexander Dalmore. I'm going to be Starkey's attending physician. I've given him a look and he's going to be fine. He has a heavy concussion, so he's going to have to stay here for twenty-four hours for observation before we can release him, but otherwise, he'll be alright."

"Can you tell us what happened, Doc?" Valentina asked even as Dr. Dalmore began to flip through his charts.

"I certainly can..." he said as he continued looking, then stopped with a short "ah!" and tapped his clipboard with one knuckle. "From the looks of things, he was hit with an unrestricted charger shot."

Claire and Valentina spoke at the same time, "Unrestricted?"

Dason answered the question before Dr. Dalmore could. "Illegal," he explained.

"Very much so," the good doctor confirmed, "They usually do an inspection when people first bring in their weapons, and on a random basis, but sometimes we see one or two that slip through the cracks. Essentially, the weapons you use in turf war have restrictors in them in order to limit their power, capacity, fire rate, and other capabilities.

"Chargers have one of the biggest restrictors because of the nature of the weapon. If their restrictor is removed, the shots have increased range and power, can sometimes leave permanent damage on whoever they hit to the point of causing serious injury."

"Starkey got hit with *that*?" Claire asked, a miniscule amount of terror slipping into her voice. 

"A grazing shot, yes," Dalmore confirmed as he glanced over his chart again, "I daresay that he got lucky. If the shot had landed two inches more to his right, it would have blinded him and possibly caused brain damage. It wouldn't have been fatal, but it might have been worse than fatal in some ways."

At this point, Dr. Dalmore was just thinking out loud and he stroked his chin in thought. Claire felt the ink draining out of her face and pooling in her feet. She didn't know what she would have done if that happened to Starkey.

True, she had only known him for a few weeks, and he was her captain more than anything else, but still. He would be broken if that happened to him. How can you coach the strongest turf war team when you're blind?

"What can we do to help him, Doctor?" Claire asked. Her voice felt small, afraid, like a child that didn't know what a parent was going to say about a broken plate.

"Well, if you want to go in there and talk to him, keep him awake, he's not allowed to go to sleep for twelve hours. I'd recommend that you do that in shifts," Dr. Dalmore said, then gave the trio a sly wink. "I'll make sure that the nurses know. They're a lot more lenient about letting friends stay overnight when they know that someone needs it. Have a nice day."

"Thanks," Claire said as Dr. Dalmore walked off. It was only when he had gone that he heard the grinding of Valentina's beak from next to him. Dason had taken on that same almost staticky quality as before, and the set of his shoulders showed that he *really* wanted to hurt someone.

"I can't believe someone would almost blind the Captain," Valentina said, each word clipped as if letting it go on too long would turn it into a string of curses, "Just for a little more oomph in their weapon."

Dason said nothing. He was still, but Claire could hear that his breathing was heavy behind the gas mask. He was probably grinding his beak to dust in frustration too.

"Guys," Claire said, trying to sound encouraging, "You're letting your tempers get the better of you. Starkey's going to be okay." She paused and bit her lip before she stood up, "You guys go home. I'll hang out with him until sunset. Then one of you two can come by and tag in."

Dason didn't move, didn't say anything, but Valentina's expression softened and she looked up at Claire with a sparkle of her usual personality in her eyes, and with a touch of mischief at that.

"Trying to get a little alone time with the Captain?" she asked, a touch of a tease in her voice. 

Claire tried desperately to hide the fact that her face was coloring with embarrassment, and she managed to stammer out, "N-no! He just needs someone there and you guys need to take some time   
and cool off."

"Shame he's not allowed to sleep," Valentina said, her voice still laced with mayhem's younger sister even as she and Dason stood up to take their leave. "That would be a perfect time to hold his hand at his bedside like in one of those comics that I'm sure you read when you were you-"

"Okay, go and get some rest because that's what you two need to do," Claire said as she turned Valentina around and started pushing her towards the elevator. Valentina didn't even put up a halfhearted resistance and kept walking until Claire had pushed her half the way. Dason followed, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie, and he stalked after Valentina as his friend started walking along of her own accord.

Claire watched them go, then looked back to Starkey's room. She wasn't sure why she wanted the first watch. Maybe it really was the reasons that Valentina had claimed? Maybe it was the reasons that Claire claimed.

Either way, she went up to the door and poked her head in.

Starkey was sitting up in bed, his tentacles pulled back from his face as they always were. A wrap went around his head and held an icepack to the left side of his face, covering one of his eyes and concealing the stain that sat on his face.

"Hey," she said as she stepped in, "How are you feeling?"

"A little bit loopy," Starkey admitted. There was a tone to his voice that wasn't quite normal, even though his expression remained as neutral as ever. Honestly, Claire wasn't entirely sure that she would have expected Starkey to even use a word like "loopy" in the past.

"They said you got banged up pretty bad," Claire said as she sat down between Starkey and the window.

"Feels like I got hit in the head with a rubber mallet," Starkey said, and he started to reach up to rub at the injury. Halfway through the action, however, his hand paused and he lowered it down.

Silence reigned for a moment. A question presed at the back of Claire's mind, moving towards the front like it was a nail pushing through ballistic gel.

"Why did you do it?" Claire asked when the question finally found her tongue.

"Do what?"

"Push me out of the way. Take the shot," Claire said, "You're here because of me."

"No," Starkey said, and his gaze shifted fully to her. He had to turn his head almost a full ninety degrees to make sure his uncovered eye was looking right at her.

Claire started. Tears had started to well up in her eyes without her realizing it, and she started to stammer out another excuse, "But if you hadn't, you-"

"Would be sitting where you are," Starkey said, his voice firm and level, "Possibly looking over you while you were in an even worse state."

Claire felt the first tear roll down her face and her voice was a croak as she asked, "Why?"

"Because I care about you," Starkey said without missing a beat.

"What?"

"You're my teammate. My friend. My..." Starkey started to say something else, but he froze for a split second like he had when they were doing their training a couple of days ago, still as a statue. When he finally thawed, he finished instead with, "I rely on you to have my back, just as you relied on me to have yours. I'd be a bad captain and a worse coach if I didn't at least try to get you out of danger."

Claire nodded. All of that made sense. She didn't want to think too hard about the third "My" that he had said because it would have gotten her hopes up. One can't have their hopes dashed when they aren't even raised in the first place.

"So why are you here?" Starkey asked, his gaze unflinching from hers.

"Oh!" Claire said. She blinked the rest of the tears out of her eyes before she continued, "Dr. Dalmore said that you're not allowed to fall asleep because of your concussion, so I'm here until sunset to help you stay awake."

"How would you propose to do that?"

Claire didn't really have many ideas. She hadn't brought any board games or anything like that. "Well..." she said, recalling a road trip she had taken with her dad a long time ago, "My dad would always tell stories to help me stay awake. Made putting me to bed as a kid really difficult." She gave a little laugh at that fond memory amidst all the bitterness.

"What kind of stories do you have?" Starkey asked.

Claire paused and opened her mouth, though she didn't say anything. "I don't really have any. Maybe it would be better if you told some?"

That fire in his eye that she had seen on the subway platform came back with a vengeance, and it looked like a smile might have been tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Well, then," he said.

"Let me tell you about my first turf war..."


	9. Chapter 9

It might have been three years ago. I can't really think straight, so it's hard to remember. I was so green that I didn't have any weapons other than the Splattershot Jr, and no gear aside from the stuff that you're given to start with. I didn't want to wait for anyone to gift me new gear, so I took the stuff that screamed "new kid" and stepped out onto the splatterfield.

I couldn't have asked for a worse map to start.

Camp Triggerfish is a Charger's delight, almost as bad as Moray Towers, and I was new to the game, even though I had watched a lot of battles as I grew up. But you know as well as I do that there's a huge difference between watching the battles on TV and actually stepping onto the splatterfield yourself.

I still remember that excitement. This concussion can't change that. It felt like I had stuck a fork in a light socket, and I was so ready to move. Keep in mind that I still had no idea for what was in store for me.

I ran straight up the middle, hoping to make a big entrance, threw a splat bomb and immediately got splatted by a charger that was standing on top of the wall on the other side of the gap, and it _hurt_. The more you battle, the more you get used to the feeling of being splatted, but that first time always hurts the worst, and it makes you a lot more cautious when you go back out.  
So I went around the side, hoping to flank them and make a push on their base, but a .52 Gal and a Splattershot Pro double teamed me before I had even inked two hundred points.

It just kept going, and going, and going, and I honestly can't remember whether I was angry, or just sad. This was supposed to be my big debut, you know? And I was getting my ass handed to me like it was the main course at a fancy dinner.

But I kept getting up again, and kept going out in order to support my team as best as I could. I popped my bubbler at the wrong time... twice. I couldn't splat anyone because they always seemed to be too fast or too sneaky. There was one point where I honestly thought about giving up, but someone was there for me, just as I was there for you.

I was pinned down on the bridge across the middle by the charger from before, and it seemed like I wasn't going to be able to escape. I considered just letting them splat me, but my pride made sure I didn't want to give them the satisfaction. One shot clipped me as I poked my head around the corner, and I fell down, right in their line of fire.

Then a disruptor sailed through the air and crashed on the wall just where the Charger had been, and the Charger ducked away as quickly as they could.

Of course, since they were standing in a disruptor cloud, that wasn't really quick, but you know how it is.

"Get up!"

The voice was so... loud. That's the only way to describe it. He looked like he had cheap gear, too, but he held a soda slosher in one hand and grabbed me by the back of my collar and hauled me to my feet.

I looked up at him and saw a maniac's grin on his face and a fire in his eyes that I'll never forget. "We got a game to win, kid! Let's roll!"

He began inking a path and charged ahead, and I followed as best as I could, watching as this inkling, high off the battle, launched himself into the fray against the Splattershot Pro from before and their fourth team member, who was using a Luna Blaster.

He splatted them both like he was ordering take-out, and he walked back to me with unsteady steps, ink covering most of his body. It's a miracle that he wasn't splatted, himself.

"Just remember, kid," his voice boomed. "It ain't over until it's over."

It sounds ridiculous, I know, but it makes sense. You know that from the first match we played together. Sure, we had them pushed back to their base, but they were still able to win due to a last minute strategy.

I only remember nodding and joining him as we let our teammates keep pushing, and started to make our way towards the enemy base. It was a bit of a trek, since we had to ink all that turf along the way, and when the gates came down, I thought we were finished, but he did some things that I could never forget.

Flanking with a slosher isn't a strategy that a lot of people use, mainly because it's terrible, but somehow he made it work.

And the entire time he fought, he was laughing like a maniac, taunting his enemies by saying things like, "Surprise, motherfucker!" and "Rule number one about fighting a slosher: Don't fight a slosher. Rule number two about fighting a slosher: Why are you still fighting a slosher?!"

I just followed him tentatively. He may have been insane, but he played well, and he mainly seemed to be trying to encourage me more than anything else.

So we kept going, and looped around to behind the wall where that charger had stayed posted all game.

He let me have that one. The first splat of my career. I don't think I can tell you how satisfying that feeling was.

We managed to hold them off while the rest of our team caught up. I got splatted one more time, but he was still holding the line when I super-jumped back to him, and we were able to hold until the timer hit zero.

We won, though it was close. Not as close as our first match together, but it came down to the decimal point.

I caught him after the game, just as he was getting ready to leave, if only so I could get his name.

He didn't give it, instead giving a short laugh at the prospect, but he did tell me one more thing before he went to wherever he came from.

"Listen, kid," he told me. "You can't let them get into your head. If they do that, the game is as good as done. Just remember: Ninety percent of the game is half mental, so make sure you keep your eyes on the prize and don't let them fuck with you."

And just like that, he was gone.

I've remembered those crazy words for a while, now, and I learned to keep my cool. But sometimes, I think it would be fun to go the same kind of crazy that he did during that game.

* * *

Claire watched him in awe for a moment, her mouth hanging open even as she made no move to close it.

Starkey just looked at her, his expression placid, his gaze almost glassy from the medication that Dr. Dalmore had prescribed.

Even so, she could still see that ember behind his gaze that would have likely been that passionate blaze that she had seen in him on rare occasion.

"Did you ever find out who he was?" Claire asked, moved as she was by his story.

"Not right away," Starkey said as he leaned his head back on the propped-up bed and stared at the ceiling, "But there was someone that made their way into the pro leagues that didn't really match his description from when I knew him, but he still used the same weapon, the same strange tactics, and the same salt-inducing taunts. If they were the same person, and I think that they are, his name is Ludwig Berra."

Claire didn't recognize the name. Then again, she wasn't as deeply entrenched in the Turf War as Starkey was, so she didn't know any of the big players in the profresional circuit.

An uncomfortable silence passed between them, then Claire stood up and said, "I'm going to go and get something from the vending machine. Do you want anything? I think you should be okay to drink juice, at least."

"Cranberry, please," Starkey said. He closed his eyes for a moment, to which Claire prodded him in the arm.

"No sleeping," she said firmly, though there was definitely a note of worry in her voice, "Dr. Dalmore said you're not allowed to go to sleep because it could cause brain damage." She didn't even want to think about what would happen if Starkey suffered even worse because he took that shot for her.

"I'm not sleeping," Starkey said as he opened his eyes. "Even with the painkillers Dr. Dalmore gave me, I don't think I could sleep because I hurt so much."

"Good," Claire said, though she still kept her eyes on him as she backed towards the door.

The vending machine was close to the nurse's station, which was a good ways from Starkey's room, and Claire moved quickly. The most agonizing thing was waiting for that stupid arm-swingy-dealy to come up and retrieve the bottles of juice and carefully transfer them to the slot down at the bottom of the vending machine. It took a good fifteen seconds to recieve the bottle and deposit it like it was a newborn baby delivered out of a newborn baby vending machine instead of a pregnant woman.

It would have taken just two if the damn machine had been even close to normal and dropped the bottles like any other vending machine would.

Sometimes, technology is created with the purpose of facilitating ease and efficency.

This definitely was not one of those times.

After the thirty excruciating seconds it took to get Starkey's cranberry and her own orange, Claire practically sprinted back to Starkey's room, much to the chagrin of an octoling nurse she passed along the way.

Starkey hadn't fallen asleep, as he had promised.

She didn't know why she thought he would. He was tough as a well-aged piece of leather, and he hadn't been awake long enough to warrant passing out. Besides, he said he hurt too much to sleep.

They both opened up their bottles of juice and, on a whim, Claire put a bendy straw in his.

Starkey stared at it for a moment, then looked back over to Claire with an expression as flat as the state of Nebraska. He didn't say anything, but even she could see in the blankness of his expression that he was nonverbally asking, "Really?"

Claire gave an embarrassed shrug and said, "I didn't want you to spill it on yourself. Just in case." She felt the need to apologize afterwards, but didn't say anything more.

As if conceding the point, Starkey took a sip.

Another not-quite-uncomfortable silence passed between them before Starkey asked, "Do you have any stories to tell?"

Claire thought on that for a moment, then shook her head. "None as exciting as yours. I'm not really that deep into turf war, and all the really exciting parts you've been there for, already."

"They don't have to be about turf war," Starkey said, and Claire's face darkened a couple of shades.

Reluctantly, she started to tell a story about the origin of Stir-Friday. When she was done, Starkey told a story about his first splatfest. Claire talked about her parents, and Starkey talked about his climb through ranked.

They traded tale after tale all through the night until the pink light of pre-dawn began to creep through the skyscrapers of Inkopolis, and she was sad when she heard Valentina's familiar voice come through the doorway.

"Goooood morning!" she called chipperly. Her expression was well-rested and jovial, and she sat down in the chair on the other side of Starkey's bed from Claire. She beamed at the two of them even as they gave polite, "Good morning"s back in response.

Even so, neither of them looked at her, instead looking only at one another.

"You should go home and get some rest," Starkey said, "I'll be out of here in no time."

Claire nodded and stood up, her steps small and slow as she walked towards the door. Valentina didn't notice her reluctance to go, and so started talking with their captain.

"So how was the night?" Valentina asked with no hint of innuendo. True, she knew about Claire's feelings for Starkey, but she would never betray them by hinting at conversations that didn't happen.

"It was good. Claire kept me awake."

"Well, that was her job, wasn't it? What did she do to keep you awake?"

Claire was out the door as she heard the final comments on the matter.

"We traded stories," Starkey said.

"Oh? What about?" Valentina asked.

There was a pause for a second before Starkey said, "I don't think you need to know."

Claire's pace quickened as she walked further down the hallway. Her stomach was a butterfly sanctuary. Her heart was pumping like a powerful steam engine.

Starkey considered that night to be something special just between the two of them.

She knew she was smiling as she boarded the train home.


	10. Chapter 10

The collection needed another member. Three other members, to be exact.

It was a little-known interest of Claire's that she had a collection of plush dolls that were scattered throughout her room (though they mostly resided in one corner on a large bookcase). It was even lesser-known that she had a steady hand with a needle and thread, and that she would sometimes add to her collection by her own hands instead of through purchase.

Claire had the felt and the stuffing laid out in front of her like so many ingredients for a complicated meal. Her sewing machine sat on top of the table as she started to trace patterns and examine the material she had selected for the process.

It was simple. Felt always tended to be simple, what with it being soft and easy to work with, and she knew the pattern that she wanted to lay out.

The craft blade felt light as a feather in her hand, but heavy as a stone. The metal of the handle was cold and unforgiving, and the razor's edge of the blade gleamed like a gemstone in the sunlight.

Her forearm began to itch. Claire put the blade down in order to scratch at it, then took a deep breath to steady her hands.

Old, ugly memories had no place in a labor of love.

She began to cut pieces for the first doll, little strips and scraps, sewing them together with an expert hand to give a layered feeling, like the doll actually was wearing clothing instead of having it just tacked on. The trickiest part was making the beanie.

Claire eventually had to do it as a separate item, complete with a brightly-colored puff ball on the crown of the hat.

After that, she assembled the doll and began to sew it together inside-out. This way, she could invert and stuff stuff it without much worry and still keep the seams hidden, and left a section at the crown of the head undone to add, remove, or shift any extra stuffing that they needed.

The machine whirred under her hands, slowly or quickly depending on the delicacy of the work, and she guided the felt with the tips of her thimble-covered index and middle fingers. Some people would consider that excessive, but she didn't want to prick her finger because of a careless slip.

When she worked like this, her hands were steady, she was in a state of calm that she could never achieve on the splatterfield. Valentina always tried to get her pumped up and Starkey tried to help her stay focused, but it was often a little more than she was comfortable handling, not that she'd ever admit it.

With this, there was only the machine, the fabric, and her hands. Just three things she had to worry about instead of a panoply of distractions that could interfere and throw her off her rhythm.

She heard the creaking of floorboards outside her room, and could practically hear her mother raising her hand to knock on the door.

They had established some very simple rules about that after Charity had walked in on Claire during a very... private moment.

The mere memory of that made Claire blush with embarrassment and her fingers slipped, causing the sewing machine's needle to ding off her right middle finger's thimble.

This is why you err on the side of caution.

She stopped the sewing machine in time to hear her mother ask quietly, "Claire? Are you alright?"

"Just sewing, Mom," she replied. She stood up and made her way over to the door.

Charity smiled at her, and she could smell the curry fish stew that her mom was cooking even from down the hall. "Dinner's almost ready, sweetie. Are you going to join us?"

"Yeah. I might be a little bit late, but I'll be there," Claire replied. "I just want to finish up this project."

"Okay. I'll let your dad know," Charity replied as she made her way back down the hall.

Claire closed the door after her and sat back down at her crafts table.

It was a small matter to get the stitches going again, a quick tug here, a small adjustment there, and the body was finished. A quick bit of work more, and the limbs were attached, leaving only the neck open to stuff the rest of the body and attach the head.

She pushed stuffing into the body with deft fingers, having done this a couple of times before, and it didn't take long for the limbs and torso of the plush doll to fill out.

Attaching the head was another story, though.

She stuffed the head independently and threaded a needle with practiced ease before she started to carefully stitch the portions of the neck that she had left attached to the head and the torso in a way that it would hide the stitches themselves when pulled tight. It was a lengthy process, but worth it for the end result, and not something that she could achieve with a machine at this stage of the construction.

She pulled the stitch, and the thread slid together with nary a piece of evidence that it had been there in the first place, save for a small tuft of stuffing that Claire plucked away and tidied up with a small pair of scissors.

When everything was said and done, Claire held her handiwork out at arm's legnth to admire it.

The hardest part had been making Valentina's perpetual smile work in a medium that was limited by the simple virtue of not being flesh. Yet, as Claire stared at the eighteen-inch tall plush with its bright smile and (somehow) even more brightly-colored hat, she was satisfied.

One down, two to go.

But for now: Dinner.

Claire stepped out to see that she hadn't been too late in coming, and that the bowls of curry fish stew over rice were still mostly full at her parents' place settings. They both beamed at her, and she gave a small smile in return as she filled up a bowl of her own (her mother had been kind enough to leave it sitting out so she could serve herself when she was ready), and took her seat at the kitchen table.

Michael was talking about some of the accounts he had to deal with that day, and just the discussion of numbers was enough to make Claire zone out a bit. Math hadn't been her strongest suit.

In return, Charity discussed how she had utterly humiliated FuguCorp's security team by way of Bavarian Fire Drill. Apparently, they had hired her to assess their security in her company's usual way. This entailed going into the building, stealing something that couldn't be carried out without being seen, and never getting caught by the building's security.

Michael was in stitches as she described how she had walked into the building in a suit with a briefcase full of clothes that an IT technician would wear, broke into the server room, then even managed to get a security guard to carry an unused server out of the building and to her car. Even Claire cracked a smile.

They finished their meal shortly after Charity finished her story, and Claire tag-teamed the dishes with her dad.

"What should I make for dinner tomorrow?" Michael asked, clearly trying to strike up a friendly conversation with his daughter.

"Something you won't burn?" Claire asked, no malice in her voice.

Michael laughed at that and said, "Maybe you should give me a hand after practice..."

His expression turned pensive.

"Speaking of which, why didn't you go to practice today?"

"Starkey's still recovering from his concussion," Claire said matter-of-factly. "He's not happy about skipping practice either, but it's the doctor's orders." She shrugged.

"So he gave you a little time off?"

"Yup."

"He's a good guy," Michael said, recounting the time that her parents had invited Starkey over for dinner about a week before the incident, "And he sounds like a good captain, too."

"He is," Claire said, hoping that her voice and body language didn't betray anything. However, even a blind man with no sense of empathy could tell that she was hunched over one of the bowls she was cleaning and scrubbing as if her life depended on it, looking for any excuse to focus on something other than Starkey.

Michael noticed. He was not blind, and he did have a massive sense of empathy. As such, he had the sense to leave it alone. "What are you working on in your room?" he asked, and Claire's hunch deepened.

"A project. Sewing," she said firmly.

"Making new plushes?" he asked with a knowing smile.

"Yes," Claire said, and her voice brokered no further argument.

They finished the dishes in a companionable silence, and after Claire put away the last spoon, she went back to her room and started to work on the next plush.

First and foremost, she had agreed to herself that she was NOT going to stitch together a gas mask for this one. As such, she had taken the time to go out to a modeling shop of all places in order to pick up a "build your own" kit.

She still felt the stares at her back as she had gone in. A girl walking into a comic shop was, while uncommon, generally accepted and did not broker further comment (not that Claire frequented those kinds of places). A girl walking into a building where the main form of revenue was Warhammer 40k figurines, on the other hand? That was something that drew every eye in the place, and prompted a couple of uncomfortable comments that she tried to ignore.

Even though the idea of the "fake geek girl" was on the decline in some spaces, it still had its roots deep in competitive tabletop and card gaming.

Fortunately, it was a quick trip. She'd called ahead, gotten the item, paid for it (the damn thing was worth a full day's winnings, but so worth it), and left in a hurry.

An hour after buying, it was assembled and its paint was drying, and now it was ready for measurement and preparation

The first part was modeling the head, which she usually saved towards the end, but the dimensions for the rest of the body would be based off the head in this case, rather than the other way around.

After doing a quick bit of math, she realized that the second plush would be about three inches shorter than the one she'd made of Valentina, which was fine by Claire. Less fabric to use.

So she followed the same basic process, building the head, then the limbs and torso separately, sewing everything together inside-out and stuffing it as best as she could.

Once it was stuffed (a little more densely than the Valentina plush, but that was on purpose), she sewed on the head with a nimble hand that had gotten used to the motions of the stitch she used, and completed it in a much shorter time than she had on the Valentina plush.

The only problem was that a completely blank face stared back at her the entire time.

She didn't bother giving this plush facial features, as unsettling as it looked. Why should she? It would be wearing the mask the entire time, and it's not like she had any idea what his face looked like in the first place.

Once the head was firmly attached, she covered up that unsettling blank face with the model gas mask and tightened it down a little more so it fit snugly and wouldn't fall off without provocation.

Claire stepped back and examined her work with the nagging feeling that she was missing something.

She frowned when she realized what it was.

She kept the stitches small as she attached a pocket to the front of the plush's sweater, then tucked the plush's hands inside it.

Much better.

She put Dason up on the shelf next to Valentina. They looked like a happy pair, and Claire found herself smiling.

This was one of the few things that she did that wasn't related to Turf War that she took pride in.

Even so, she was a little nervous about this last doll. She glanced at the clock to see that it read eight-thirty.

A little late, but she could afford to stay up a little longer.

This time, she did everything by hand, and she had to stop herself several times because she was nervous about how it would wind up turning out.

"It's just a doll..." Claire chided herself. "It's not like it's actually him. Calm down..."

A few deep breaths later, she was ready to continue.

His gear was easy, all the way down to the details on his shoes. She weilded the crafting knife like it was a swordmaster's rapier and a conductor's baton all in one, and her stitches were so small that she could have fit twenty to an inch.

If she was Beethoven, this would have been her ninth symphony.

If she was Maya Angelou, this would have been "I Know why the Caged Bird Sings."

If she was Vincent Van Gogh, this would have been "Starry Night."

Her masterpiece, greater in quality than any other plush she had ever made, and even as her needle went under, over, and through the felt, she knew that was the case.

It's because of how she felt when she made it.

Every stitch was exactly where it needed to be, every little trick she used improved the doll instead of making the work easier, be it from the details on the shoes to the small piece of folder paper that she cut and sewed into the felt to make the brim of his hat.

She spent a lot of time on the face, trying to make it just the perfect amount of expressionless and unreadable, and to shape it just so it would be a near-perfect likeness.

She added tiny stitches on the inside of the cheeks to make it look like his cheekbones stuck out a little more, she cut the fabric so his face would be longer and leaner than the others, she even sewed the hat on after the fact in order to make sure that she arranged the tentacles just right before tying them behind his head.

When she stuffed the doll, she did everything just right. The right amount of firmness in the arms and legs to show his strength, and a little softer through the chest because underneath it all, he had a heart of pudding.

When she attached the head, she took more time with the stitch that connected the neck and the head, and when she pulled it tight, it looked just like him... at least, as far as she knew. She didn't know how the injury he had sustained would have changed his appearance.

But she loved him.

She loved every part of him, and she would tell him so if she but had the courage to say so.

She let it sit there on the sewing table as she put away all of her materials, putting the scraps of felt in her scrap box and the unused material in a box of its own. The crafting knife went into yet another box with a couple of other dyes and paints that she rarely used, but still wanted to keep around.

She unplugged the sewing machine, turned off her lamp, and looked again at the clock

Five in the morning. She looked out the window and saw that predawn grey behind a few of the other houses in the distance. 

She had been up far too long working on that last doll.

As if merely acknowledging the existence of the time caused all of the effects to hit her, she yawned and stretched in the darkness.

Claire gingerly collected the doll and kicked off her shoes, shambled over to bed and flopped on top of the covers.

As if for a final admiration of her work, or a final admiration of the object of her desire, she held up the doll over her head. Its limbs dangled down in front of her face, and she stared at the doll's neutral expression in the pale moonlight that streamed in through her blinds.

She hugged the doll to her chest, careful with it as not to cause damage, and glad that she had left the stuffing in the chest a little less dense so she could snuggle it better.

Claire gave a final yawn and rolled onto her side, keeping the doll held tight to her chest.

"Good night," she murmured, "... Starkey."


	11. Valentine's Day Special

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sent to Clod and Jen on Valentine's Day, this one is full of happy romance and reciprocation of feelings.

When she came home from the hospital, she had placated her parents as best as she could by saying that she was fine, that Starkey would be fine, and that she'd keep them posted. Over the course of the next couple of days, Claire checked in with Valentina and Starkey to see how he was doing. Dr. Dalmore had released him after a twenty-four hour observation, as promised, but had told him not to engage in any strenuous activity (such as Turf War) for a few days as not to give him another concussion, one which was bound to be worse than the one he'd just recovered from.

For now, though, Claire slept. Her dreams were strange.

Some of them were similar to dreams that she'd had in the past while sick, where she had been placed in increasingly strange situations. If she had been lucid in the dream itself, she would have contemplated whether or not she was running a fever in the real world.

This particular one had her traipsing through a field of purple glass as several strawberries danced around her. The strawberries had clock faces on them, continuously made ticking noises, and had arms not unlike she had seen on a certain old-timey cartoon sailor, complete with anchor tattoo.

They were throwing flan at her. She couldn't possibly imagine why.

It was completely normal in the context of the dream, but any psychoanalyst worth their salt would pull their hair out in frustration at the sheer weirdness of the dream, as well as potential interpretations of what on the Great Zapfish's green earth it could possibly mean.

She stopped running through the purple grassed meadow for a moment as she saw a figure on the crest of an upcoming hill, a familiar figure, a figure that she cared about. He held his slosher in hand and even from this distance in the strange, almost pale-green light, she could tell that Starkey's expression was set in his version of worry.

He opened his mouth to speak to her, then a lance of ink caught him on the left side of his face, the attack accompanied by the E-Liter's air-splitting crack.

Claire's eyes opened.

Movies tend to portray people sitting bolt upright out of their bed when they wake up from a nightmare before coming to the realization that it was all a dream. This is not the case with most people.

Most people just tend to wake up and stare at the ceiling for a moment with only a simple question on their minds: "What the fuck was that?"

Claire knew exactly what it was.

It was a nightmare.

It had been three days since she'd watched that scene happen in real-time, that had been a nightmare, and her phone was ringing.

She answered it without even taking the time to check the caller ID.

"H'lo?" she murmured blearily. The sun was starting to go down off in the distance. She'd been asleep for a lot longer than she had planned.

"Claaaaaaire!" came Valentina's voice through the phone, and Claire had to hold it away from her head for a moment because her teammate was being way too damn loud.

"Hey, Valentina," Claire murmured, then yawned. She swung her legs off the bed and stood up, then stretched up onto her tiptoes to work out all of the kinks that had built up from when she was asleep. "How's Starkey?"

"Wow, just asking right after him instead of seeing how your ol' pal Valentina's doing," she said, and Claire could practically hear the pout in her voice. "You really have it bad for him, huh?"

She said this last statement a little more quietly, as if Starkey was right around the corner, and Claire hissed into the reciever, the prod at her known affections kicking her in the pants enough to wake her up fully. "Will you stop talking about that?" she said harshly, though she made a point to keep her voice quiet.

On the other end of the line, Valentina burst into raucous laughter. Claire frowned at the receiver.

"I'm just giving you a hard time, Claire," Valentina said, and her voice took on the same tone as that of a teasing older sister. Claire's frown deepened.

"I don't think you called me just to poke fun at me," Claire said, and her voice was as sour as six-month-old milk.

"Starkey's calling a meeting today. Apparently, he wants to get back on the horse," Valentina said as if the whole interlude about Claire's feelings for her captain hadn't even happened in the first place.

Claire's frown turned upside-down, and she started getting dressed to head back out into the Inkopolis dusk. "That's great! Where at?" she said.

"His house. Apparently his family's out of town for some thing or another and they left him behind to house-sit," Valentina replied.

Claire's heart tumbled around in her ribcage like a court jester performing an acrobatics routine. A backflip, a handstand, and a barrel roll later, she found her voice again. "W... where is his place?"

Valentina gave the address.

Claire thanked her and hastily hung up.

One of the thing that people fail to realize about excitement and anxiety is that while the two deal with the same parts of the brain, the same neurotransmitters, and the same feeling of anticipation is that it's often a quick jump across a short line from one to the other.

Unfortunately for Claire's head meat, her brain was doing side-to-side jumps across that line faster than her whole body could do them in real life.

What was Starkey's house like? Was he inviting her along because he liked her? No, he invited the whole team. Why would he want everyone over at his place? What was the meaning of this?

Claire never considered for a second that the message that Valentina had relayed about how Starkey just wanted to rest at home in his own bed instead of being out around a lot of people was actually, you know, truthful.

She pulled on her coat -it was a little chilly outside- and practically jogged to the front door.

"Claire, sweetie!" her mother called at her as she ran by, distress apparent in Charity's voice, "You're leaving just before dinner?"

At the kitchen table, Michael looked up from the paperback copy of "The Dragon Reborn" he held in his hand and furrowed his brow not in disappointment, but rather confusion.

"Starkey's being released from the hospital," Claire said, not even bothering to contain the joy in her voice as she threw her arms around her mother's neck and hugged her tightly. "The doctors say that he's going to be fine, and he invited the team over to his house."

Charity started for a second at the sudden and unexpected hug, then looked at Claire with surprise-widened eyes. While Claire bounced on the balls of her feet in front of her. Even a half-blind marmoset could see that excitement was flooding through every pore of Claire's body, and she made no attempts to contain it.

Charity glanced from Claire to Michael, who only shrugged and smiled warmly behind his mustache. There was something like pride in his eyes, and Charity let out an acquiescing sigh before she shifted her gaze back to Claire. "Go ahead. Have fun. But message us when you're on your way home, okay?"

"Thanks, Mom!" Claire said as she hugged her mother again and wheeled around to the kitchen. She kissed her dad on the cheek and left the house so quickly that a few motes of dust still lingered in the air, kicked up by her exit, even after the door closed.

She was lucky and caught the right train just as she went down into the subway, but as she sat down, all of that excitement turned to anxiety.

"Great Zapfish save me," she said as she rested her head in her hands, her eyes going wide from the realization. "I have no idea what I'm going to do."

Her heart continued its career in gymnastics, performing on the double bars with flips, twists, turns, though her heart never seemed to jump off even in an attempt to stick the landing.

She got off the train and walked for a couple of blocks to Starkey's place, then knocked politely on the front door.

He opened it, and Claire's heart finally leapt off the bars...

Only to faceplant directly onto the mat. Zero points from the judges.

The bandage that had been wrapped around Starkey's head back at the hospital was gone, now, and Claire's breath hitched as she saw why it had been there in a first place.

A splatter of ink ran along the outer edge of his ocular cavity, back across his temple, almost to reach his ear. His own tentacles were a subdued orange right now, but the ink that seemed embedded into his skin was a violent and angry purple, like a particularly nasty bruise.

"How did... what..." Claire searched for the words, but her personal lexicon wasn't anywhere near alphabetized, so it just came out as inelegant, incomplete thoughts.

"It's because of the mod the shooter made to their weapon," Starkey said. His voice was so level, so calm that he appeared almost nonchalant as he talked about it. "The doctor said he could surgically remove it without any danger to my eye, but I declined?"

Claire finally found the words to ask an appropriately structured question: "Why not?"

"It'll remind me of what someone tried to do to you," he said even as he stepped aside to invite her in, "And I'll only have an excuse to get it removed after I find the person that took that shot."

Now Claire's heart decided to walk away from gymnastics and try out track and field. Her heart was engaged in the hundred-meter dash and didn't seem to be slowing down. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly feeling dry even though it had felt normal no more than a few seconds ago. He would go that far for her?

Sometimes she didn't know if he took his duties as a captain that seriously, or if something more was building between the two of them. He was so hard to read that it seemed almost impossible, and asking the question outright was a surefire way to make a situation unncessarily awkward.

Starkey's home was neat, almost impeccably tidy. He explained that he lived with his parents, but that they had gone out on an extended vacation and left him in charge.

"They probably haven't even heard that I needed to go to the hospital," Starkey said without malice. Then again, he said it without any real sort of inflection at all, per the usual.

They rounded a corner to see Dason and Valentina already sitting in the living room at a coffee table. Dason, as always, had his hands stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie and his gas mask made Starkey look as expressive as Ace Ventura: Pet Detective.

"Yo!" Valentina said, not nearly as loudly as she had greeted Claire over the phone earlier that day.

"Hey," Claire responded as she went into the living room and took a seat on one of the empty sides of the square coffee table. Starkey sat across from her and reached into the breast pocket of his jacket to remove a blueprint of a map.

"I wanted to be home in case I start feeling unwell," Starkey explained even as he opened up the blueprint of Inkblot Art Academy. He pinned down the corners of the map with everyone's phones and continued, "We still need to start setting up a strategy, though."

So the evening of work began. Halfway through, Starkey ordered pizza (just cheese since they hadn't had pizza as a team before) and they continued to plan as they chowed down.

Claire watched Dason intently throughout the meal. She wanted to see how he did it, and she swore she would catch him slipping.

There was a chomping sound from somewhere in Dason's general direction.

She looked down at his pizza, saw that there was a bite taken out of it, and then decided that the mission of figuring out just how in the fuck he did that was completely pointless and would remain one of the world's greatest, unsolved mysteries until the day that Inkopolis fell back beneath the waves.

"Did you catch that, Claire?" Starkey said. Claire had the feeling that he wasn't talking about Dason's unusual method of eating.

"No, sorry. What was that?" she said, though there wasn't as much shame in her voice as there would have been a few weeks ago.

"You're going to take the tower and hold it," Starkey said as he pointed at the map, "You may not have as much range as other splatlings, but you'll be able to ink more turf more quickly, and draw their attention enough to you so Valentina and I can ink more turf around the sides and at our base."

"But if she's drawing attention to herself," Valentina said questioningly, "How do we make sure that she keeps their attention? Won't they just splat her and move on?"

"That'll be your job, Dason," Starkey said as he pointed across the table. "You're basically her bodyguard. Stay hidden and move quiet until someone gets close, then make them regret it."

Dason's phone started playing the theme music of a certain old movie that starred an exceptionally large shark and the phrase "we're gonna need a bigger boat."

There was another chomping sound from the vicinity of Dason's mask.

Half of his slice of pizza was now gone.

Claire glared at him, knowing that he hadn't moved, but that the music, the chomp, and the missing pizza were all too perfectly timed to be coincidence.

Somehow, in a way that she couldn't explain, Dason looked smug.

"Worst case scenario," Starkey continued as if shenanigans had not just transpired mere seconds before, "Dason gets splatted, and Claire has to fall back and regroup."

Claire's legs were starting to cramp, so she raised a hand quietly.

"Excuse me?" she asked without waiting to be called, "Where's the bathroom?"

Starkey pointed down a hallway and said, "Second door on the left."

Claire stood up and walked down the hall, past what looked like an office on the left hand side... and a slightly cracked door on the right.

She saw a familiar case big enough to hold a slosher on the inside, and curiosity got the better of her.

She poked her head into Starkey's room and glanced around while her heart ditched track and field for a career in the circus on the flying trapeze.

Claire knew that what she was doing was wrong, but she took another step into Starkey's room and eased the door carefully shut behind her so nobody would notice that she had gone in.

The floor, desk, and nightstand were all kept as tidy as they could possibly be, practically gleaming with the shine of recently-applied cleaner. His dresser and walls were covered in turf war memorabilia, though. There were three posters commemorating various splatfests, one of which had been signed by both Callie and Marie, and a few smaller posters celebrating what she could only assume were the legends of Turf War.

She didn't recognize any of the names, and asking Starkey about them would clue him in that she'd been poking around where she didn't think she was allowed.

She's going to have to do an internet search later on.

On the dresser were miniatures of what Claire assuemed were a couple more Turf War greats, each of them made of enameled metal, as well as a photo frame.

Claire's heart prepared to do a daring act of aerial acrobatics and started to swing out over the center ring of the big top.

Claire looked at the photo.

Claire's heart let go of the bar and started to twist and flip in slow motion.

It was a picture of Starkey and another inkling, a girl with sharp eyes and a sharper smile. Her tentacles were the length of her chin in the front and short in the back, the whole bit kept tidy under her beanie. She was narrow, almost boyish in frame, and her top hung almost lazily off one shoulder.

The strangest thing about her, though, was her mask. Most inklings had a simple black ring around each eye that connected in the middle, like a pair of goggles. Hers seemed to be shaped like dots at the corners of her eyes with what looked like the broken bridge of a pair of glasses in the middle.

In the background, the decor of a splatfest was visible through the royal purple and lime green lighting of Callie and Marie's performance vans. The girl held something from Crusty Sean's in her hand, one of his deep-fried somethings that every squid knew was delicious despite its dubious ingredients. Their tentacles were in a light brown, and their shirts were both emblazoned with a segmented chocolate bar, indicating that they were involved in the Chocolate vs. Vanilla splatfest.

But the thing that drew her eye the most was the expression on Starkey's face.

He was wearing a full, unabashed grin, and the picture seemed to have been taken mid-laugh. It likely had to do with the sauces and condiments that had been smeared on his face when he had taken a bite of the deep-fried something that the girl was holding.

He looked happy. Happier than she had ever seen him.

That splatfest wasn't even nine months ago.

Her heart reached out for the bar coming back to her, and missed.

Her heart fell, no net to catch it, and shattered on the ground like a pane of glass thrown off a skyscraper.

Claire left Starkey's room. She wanted to cry. She wanted so badly to cry, but she couldn't.

She just felt numb.

"I have to go," she said as she made her way back into the living room.

Valentina started to protest. Even Dason said a farewell.

But Starkey said nothing.

Numb as she was, she could still feel his gaze boring into her back even after the door closed behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh. Had you going for a moment, didn't I?


	12. The Chapter From Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter's title comes from the fact that my computer ate the chapter twice, leading me to start over, plus a blackout while I was working on it that deleted about 90% of the work that I'd done since the last save. It's not because of anything sinister, I swear.

She had to clean up afterwards.

Run the water, wash all the evidence away. After that, it was a matter of making sure that the bathroom was clean beyond reproach. Mom always kept those cleaning wipes next to the toilet in case someone's downtown turned into a brown town.

She wiped down the sink, the mirror, the vanity, all in the blink of an eye with only two wipes, then flushed them down the toilet.

She didn't want anyone to know.

Hide the implement. That was the easiest part. There was a strip of tape just on the underside of the vanity drawer that she could use to keep it in place, and nobody would ever think to look there.

She put the implement back. It was something she had borrowed...

Stolen. She wouldn't lie to herself about that, not the way that she was lying to herself about how what she was doing as okay. She stole it from her father and she couldn't give it back to him.

Not after what she had used it for.

She closed the drawer and examined the work.

The work from all those years ago had faded, barely visible especially against the new. The work she had done a week ago had started to fade into white, while the most recent needed the wrap.

She wrapped it all. She didn't want anyone to know.

A knock came at the bathroom door.

"Claire, are you okay? You've been in there a while." Charity's voice was worried, worry born of the idea that she might find the same sight she had found all that time ago.

"Just a second," Claire said. To her credit, she kept her voice even. She ran a short spray of the sink again for good measure, then opened the door. It hadn't been locked. A locked bathroom would arouse too much suspicion, even if it meant a greater risk of discovery.

Charity stood there, about ready to knock again, just in case, but her expression softened when she saw Claire standing there. It was all Claire could do to keep her gaze on the spot between her mother's eyes, just to maintain the illusion of eye contact.

She couldn't bear to look at them directly.

"What kept you?" her mom asked jokingly, but there was a subtler meaning underneath it. She had been worried, and rightly so. Claire stepped aside so her mom could see.

"I was just cleaning the bathroom," she said, and it felt better coming out of her mouth knowing that it was a half-lie. It still tasted bitter on her tongue, but she at least kept a straight face.

Charity relaxed visibly, though there was still a tension in her shoulders that indicated she suspected something, "Great. I was just getting ready to do that, myself. You saved me a bit of trouble, Claire. Thank you."

"No problem, Mom," she said as she stepped out into the hallway. She didn't have to squeeze past Charity. There was no reason to make for a forced escape. "I'm going to go to practice. Dason will stare at me weird if I'm late."

Charity gave a laugh at that, but it seemed halfhearted to Claire. She knew that something was going on, but didn't want to admit it to anyone, let alone herself. "Well, make sure you're back for dinner. Dad's making breakfast for dinner tonight, so be ready."

Claire couldn't do more than give a forced smile at that. Her dad's culinary expertise was questionable on the best of days, but he was getting better. Breakfast for dinner was the one thing that he couldn't mess up, so he tended to do that more often than usual when it was his turn to cook.

"Sounds like fun," Claire said halfheartedly, and she started to turn away from her mother, only to feel Charity's hand rest on her shoulder. A mother's grip could be soft as silk but unmoving as stone, and Charity's was no different.

Claire froze. Had she been found out so soon?

Charity leaned over and whispered in Claire's ear. "I also got you ice cream sandwiches for dessert. Just because I know that they're you're favorite."

She let Claire go and gave her a genuine, warm smile before folding her arms and waggling her fingers to indicate that Claire should get going before she said, "Have fun at practice."

"I will. I'll talk to you later," Claire said just as she started to beat a hasty retreat.

Her dad was sitting in his usual spot at the kitchen table, the well-worn copy of "The Dragon Reborn" in his hands and a steaming mug of coffee on the table in front of him. He glanced up and started to say something, but Claire had one too many close calls with parental units already.

She grabbed her gear case, making sure that she used her right hand, and left quickly and without another word.

Back in the house, she knew that her parents were looking at each other with concern etched into their faces.

She caught the train just in time, almost losing her right hand to the closing doors, and had to pull her gear case through because they shut on it. She sat down and stared at the floor, then her own hands.

They shook. The left hand more so than the right, but they were both shaking. Her skin was paler than usual, she could tell that just by looking at her palms, and she knew that people would notice.

She thought that people might have already noticed, all things considered.

Claire clenched her hands into fists, closed her eyes, and did what she could to will her hands to stop, and when she opened both eyes and hands again, her fingers did not tremble.

The left did, to tell the truth, but not nearly as much as they had.

At least she could attribute that to nerves.

She got off at Inkopolis Plaza and walked along the sidewalk towards Ammo Knights. She didn't want to run into anyone else that she knew along the way, and she had to swallow multiple times to keep her gorge down at the thought that her teammates would find her out just like her mother almost had.

She checked in with Sheldon, who didn't even look up from the computer console behind the desk even as he gave her a thumbs up and said, "Practice bay three."

Claire booked it. It's hard to walk at a fast pace without looking suspicious, and Claire hadn't quite mastered that skill. But there was nobody in the hallway to the various practice bays that could have commented, so she could have been streaking for all the attention she would have drawn.

She entered the third bay on the right and paused when she saw not only Valentina and Dason, but also Starkey there.

They all watched her as if she really was running late, even though she knew that she was ten minutes early.

"Sorry I'm late," she said, even though she wasn't. "The folks held me up a little bit at home."

Dason nodded, as if in understanding, even though his hands never left his pockets. Valentina walked up and peered at Claire, her gaze like that of a big sister trying to figure out if a sibling was sick. She even put the back of her hand on Claire's forehead and frowned as if she was expecting a fever.

"Are you alright?" she asked, more gravely than usual. "You look pale."

"I'm fine," Claire said even as she gave a weak smile. "I just didn't have breakfast this morning. Late start, you know?"

That had been a lie. She'd been awake since four in the morning and ate two pieces of fruit just before she performed the work. It felt bitter passing her lips, and she almost felt like vomiting again.

Valentina nodded slowly, knowing that Claire was avoiding something. Fortunately, she chose not to press. "Alright. Ready to get started? Starkey's here to watch how well we syngergize and how quick your reflexes have gotten. Looks like the Captain is taking the role a little more seriously today, huh?"

As if there had been nothing wrong in the first place, Valentina playfully elbowed Claire in the side and gave a wink, as if she was still encouraging her to go after Starkey.

Claire nodded, feeling the numbness she had tried to cut away coming back in full. Her gaze drifted off into a thousand-yard stare, and she muttered, "Let me get my gear ready, then I'll join you."

She could feel Starkey's eyes on her the entire time. Especially the eye with the ink stain around its housing. It was a dark pink today, while Starkey's own tentacles were royal blue.

Did the color change with the person that made the scar?

Claire shook her head and went to get her weaponry ready, and put it on as meticulously as she had every time before.

The training was tough, more so than usual. Starkey pushed them to the limit, and Claire couldn't keep up. Her left hand's grip on the mini splatling was weak, and she couldn't control her aim. The recoil reduced her accuracy and drew lines up walls when it should have been a single bullseye. She knew it was barely perceptible, but her swimming was slower, her awareness was off, and her hands still shook with nerves and something else.

The whole while, she could feel Starkey's gaze boring into her back, even as he gave orders to Valentina and Dason.

She felt ready to collapse only a half hour in when Starkey's voice called out, "Alright, that's enough."

Valentina and Dason paused in their maneuvers, and stared at their captain with confusion writ on their faces. "Already?" Valentina asked. "But we just got started!"

"Let's break for lunch," Starkey said, "Claire looks like she's about ready to collapse, and I don't want anyone passing out during practice."

Valentina and Dason exchanged glances, a whole conversation happening wordlessly, in the blink of an eye, and only between the two of them. Surprisingly, Dason was the one to give any indication of what he thought first, offering a shrug with his hands raised in a "what are you gonna do?" gesture, and the pair walked off to pack up.

Claire started to do the same, but Starkey's hand clamped down on her left forearm.

If her mother's hand had been iron, then Starkey's was steel, unyielding as a mountain.

And the Great Zapfish as her witness, it _hurt_.

Claire tried to keep the pain off her face. She tried to keep a level expression even as Starkey said, "Wait up. I want to talk to you."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, but she knew that her face had twisted in a slight grimace of pain.

Starkey remained expressionless even as her gaze turned back over to him, and he called out to their teammates, "On second thought, you two go on ahead. I want to talk to Claire real quick."

Another unspoken conversation passed between Dason and Valentina and, just as before, Dason gave that shrug and raised his hands in acquiesence. They left.

Once the door closed behind them, Starkey and Claire were alone, and he spoke very softly to her.

"You've been out of it the past couple of days," he said. His voice carried just a hint of worry, like someone had added just enough seasoning to some soup to make a white person think it was spicy, "You're pale, you look tired, you talk less than usual."

His voice made it seem like he was just stating facts at this point.

"Let me go. Please," Claire said, though she didn't try to pull away. Even though it hurt, just the idea that Starkey was touching her filled her with a thrill that she couldn't quantify, nor did she want to. She struggled to keep her voice level, but she could tell that it was on the brink of cracking.

"What's wrong, Claire," Starkey said, and his voice carried more emotion to it than all the other times that he had spoken to her before.

She said nothing. She looked towards the door and closed her eyes, hoping that would be enough of a hint for him to let her walk away.

The fingers of Starkey's free hand cupped hers, and his steel grip turned to silk, moving carefully and smoothly to slowly lift up the sleeve of her sweater and see what was underneath.

When it was rolled up just past her wrist, he paused, his body gaining that same kind of stillness that she had seen from him on a couple of occasions before, but she knew better this time. She could practically hear him screaming.

He rolled up the sleeve further, and she knew what was underneath. The pressure had stopped the bleeding, but that still didn't stop five neat lines of blood from seeping through the bandage wrapped around her forearm before the bleeding had ceased.

She heard Starkey's breath hitch, and she felt a tear roll down her cheek.

First the picture on the nightstand. That had been what started all of this, and now this moment.

He unwrapped the bandage slowly, gingerly, like a harpist playing a mezzopiano melody, and when it came free, she felt her heart sink down into her feet.

She knew what was there.

Several lines had been cut into her flesh. Some were year-old scars, almost faded. Less numerous were the newer ones that were either still fresh or had just started to scab over.

"Why?" Starkey asked. Not an accusation, but just a simple question. Claire thought she heard a quaver in his voice, and she looked over at him with tears still welling up in her eyes.

A single tear had rolled down his cheek from the corner of his left eye. It looked like a muddy black, a combination of the dark pink ink of his own scar and the royal blue of his tentacles. Claire tore her gaze away from his own.

"I saw the picture on your nightstand," she said quietly, "I saw you happy, laughing with another inkling, and I wanted to be where she stood, with you making the same face right next to me. But because she was there, I knew that would never happen."

She expected a lot of things at that point.

She expected Starkey to tell her that she was off the team. She expected him to call the police. She expected him to shout, to scream, to call her stupid, foolish, crazy, pathetic.

She didn't expect him to move around to her front and wrap his arms gingerly around her. His hand guided her head so her forehead rested on his shoulder, and that numbness that she had been trying to stave off with the razor blade taped under the vanity drawer washed away like rain in a flood.

He was warm, and he was gentle, and he was holding her as if she was the only thing in the world.

"That ended long ago," Starkey said, and his voice was firm with conviction. Even so, Claire could tell that he was trying to hold back tears. "And you brought back something that I thought I lost when it did end. I first came to you because of your potential, but I care about you. I care about you as more than a teammate, more than a friend. I... I don't want to say it but I think you know how I feel, Claire.   
You must feel the same otherwise you wouldn't have been hurt so badly that you would feel the need to do this to yourself."

It was the first time she had heard so much emotion in his voice, even though he was trying to control it.

Claire started crying. Hard sobs wracked her body, and she threw her arms around Starkey no matter how much it hurt her left arm. Her hands snared in the back of his shirt, and she clung onto him as if he was going to turn into mist and fade away. This wasn't a dream, but she felt like it would end at any moment.

In return, Starkey held her more firmly, and remained there as a pillar, a bulwark.

Starkey was her rock.

It broke when he pulled away and gently cupped her cheeks in his hands, then placed a soft, warm kiss on her forehead.

Claire paused, and she noticed that Starkey had froze as well, though it wasn't the same kind of freeze that he'd done before. He was just... still. Completely and totally still.

She returned the kiss on his cheek and said, "I never thought you would feel the same."

"I do," he said with all the conviction of a wedding vow.

They stood there for a moment, arms around one another, enjoying the closeness and the warmth for just a little while longer before Claire broke the silence.

"There's still one more story that I need to tell you, now that you know about... well, that," she said, referencing her left arm.

Starkey looked down at her, and a bittersweet smile graced his lips.

"I'll be there until the end."


	13. Chapter 13

I didn’t have an easy time in school.

And by “not an easy time” I meant that I was worse than I am now. I didn’t have any friends, my time with my family was the only time when I was happy, but because Mom and Dad had really busy work schedules at the time, the only time we really got to spend together as a group was during dinner, and sometimes not even then.

They bullied me, Starkey. The kids at school, I mean. My parents would never hurt me, and I know that they’d rain hell on someone if they found out that I was getting hurt at school. I was scared for how it would affect them at work, and how it would affect me even worse at school once everything blew over.

Have you ever been bullied, Starkey?...

No. I didn't think so. You're so cool, and charming, and handsome... I know that there was no way that you could know what it's like.

But you can't go to the teachers with it.

Even with parents like mine, you can't go to them.

My parents are good people. They care about me. They wanted to make me feel safe and happy, but this was one thing that they couldn't do for me. I go to them, they start getting on the teachers, the administration, maybe even the other parents.

I go to the teachers, they dance around the issue until there's enough evidence to take it to the administration. Then the principal or dean or whoever has my problems land on their desk gives them a slap on the wrist at best and ignores me at worst.

The second one is more likely than you think. The bullies usually have people that join in, that back up their alibis, and that they claim that they knew that nothing was going wrong. And the bullies were always the popular kids, so there was no way that anyone would speak out against them. The popular kids didn't want to lose their popularity, and the other kids that were getting bullied didn't want to receive worse than what they were already getting.

But if we're lucky, the bullies actually get punished. Then the second that the punishment is over, they come back to give me a harder time, and cover their tracks better so I can't go to the teachers again.

More often, the administration "can't find enough evidence" or "nobody's backing up your story," so they walk away without any punishment and somehow, they find out that you were the one that told on them. You're labeled as a snitch and they continue, but they make sure that it hurts more than before.

When you have no one to turn to, Starkey, you're just left with yourself. The school wouldn't help me, my family *couldn't* help me, and I didn't have any friends. I was left alone, and I... stopped feeling everything.

Some people would feel angry, or resentful, or turn into bullies themselves. I just felt... numb.

I didn't even feel it when they filled up a garbage can with water and dumped it into the bathroom stall I was using.

I didn't even care when they dumped out my lunchbox and filled it with bugs.

I barely noticed when someone threw a basketball at my head during gym and claimed that their hand slipped.

I cried myself to sleep more times than I'd like to admit.

I wasn't sad because I didn't have anyone to help anymore. I was sad because I didn't even care. I didn't want to care. I just fell into despair so deep that it seemed like hope would never come back.

So I had to do something. I had to do anything that would let me feel anything again, even if it was something as simple as pain. Pain reminded me that the world was still there.

I started taking really hot or really cold showers. I left the bathroom with scalded skin or chattering teeth, but that stopped working.

After that, I switched to digging my fingernails into my arm after they came for me. If I dug my nails in deep enough, I could feel something that would make me realize exactly what they had done to me and actually do something about it. It never even started to work.

The idea came to me when I saw Dad shaving one morning.

He uses one of those safety razors, you know? Not the kind you buy from the store with the four, five blades and the cartridge that you just throw out when it's dull.

Dad uses one of those old-fashioned razors where you have the handle and you have to screw in the individual razor blades whenever you change them out. Brush and mug, the whole deal. Dad takes his shaving very seriously.

I stole one.

I won't even try to justify myself by saying that I borrowed it, because I never planned on giving it back. I stole it, and I'm not proud to say that I did.

He never noticed, because he gets them in a box of ten, so I knew that when he changed out his blade again that I was safe.

After that... I...

I started hurting myself.

Just little cuts on the inside of my forearm.

I saw my ink well up from the cuts and I finally *felt* something again, Starkey. I felt pain and... I'm ashamed to admit that I felt happy.

Five cuts a day. That's all I allowed myself.

That's all.

Until it wasn't enough.

One day, I did seven, and that was the breaking point.

Mom found me in the bathroom that day, passed out in front of the sink. Thinking back on it, I was lucky that I didn't hit my head on the sink when I collapsed.

I woke up in the hospital, and the first thing I saw was Mom crying. I can count on one hand the number of times that I've seen her cry, and never like this before. Dad was holding my hand, silent as a mountain, and his gaze kept on shifting back and forth between me and Mom, though he was a lot more concerned about me.

Once they realized I was awake, Mom threw her arms around me and begged me to never do it again because she couldn't bear losing me. Dad hugged us both, and we stayed like that until the doctor came in and had to pretty much pry them off of me.

They had to give me a transfusion, and I had to go and see a counselor for six months. The counselor's name was Mrs. Gibson, and she helped me a lot. She helped me ease off and learn to talk to people when something was wrong, but... I failed at that when it counted.

I didn't tell anyone when I saw that picture of you and that other girl at the splatfest because of how it made me feel.

Building up to feeling numb was something that took weeks, a couple of months, even. But when I saw that picture...

I'm sorry, Starkey.

I'm sorry that you care so much about someone as messed-up as me.

***

As the last words came out of Claire's mouth, she lowered her eyes to stare at her hands. She had told her story, and even with Starkey's admonition of love only moments ago, she thought that this might be the breaking point.

Instead, she was surprised to feel his arms wrapped around her just as before, though it was gentler than before. His embrace was one of comfort, not of reassurance, and his hand gently cradled the back of her head to pull it in towards his shoulder.

Her head nestled in the crook of his neck, and Claire's eyes went wide for a moment before she settled into it with a warm smile. She had felt cold before, weak, but his embrace and the warmth in it seemed to fill her and give her strength to stand up a little bit straighter.

So they just stood there for a moment, hugging. A subjective eternity passed, but that wasn't nearly long enough in Claire's eyes, and when they finally broke, she smiled up at him.

"Starkey, I-"

"Don't say it," he said, and his voice was soft again. He closed his eyes and shook his head as he said so, so she knew that he wanted her to say it.

Claire searched for the appropriate response to that statement, but all she could come up with was, "Why?"

"I want to tell you first," Starkey said, "But the time's not right. You're still hurting, so I'll wait until we're both able to say it and know that the other means it."

Claire's heart did some weird things, weirder than they had when she was at Starkey's house before this whole incident started. It just... soared. Like a majestic eagle through the midnight sky, and even did some swoops and dives in the air while it did.

"Okay," she agreed. There was a beat, then she got up on her tiptoes and kissed him.

His lips were just as warm as they had been on her forehead, and she must have taken him by surprise because he froze a moment before he returned it.

They held that for a moment before Claire settled back down onto the ground. Her cheeks were tinged brightly in a stark contrast to the pallor of her skin, and Starkey looked down at her with affection in his eyes.

"You caught me by surprise, there," he admitted, and Claire gave a girlish giggle at the statement.

"You all have been teaching me to look for openings in the enemy defenses," Claire replied with almost a teasing tone. She felt like if she started walking, she would hang in the air between each step.

"Speaking of which," Starkey said as he pointed at the exit, "They're probably thinking we're up to something."

Claire winced at the thought of Valentina and Dason speculating about what was happening in the private practice area, and she knew that Valentina would likely wind up going wild with imagination. She didn't want to think about the things that Valentina was likely considering, especially considering that she had cottoned on to Claire's feelings for Starkey pretty early. She would likely have to face a sort of private inquisition about what the two of them had been up to while they were alone.

"Practice is off for the rest of the day. You need to eat and heal up," Starkey said, and they both packed up their gear. Claire needed a little bit of help, but Starkey seemed happy to oblige, and she took up the heavy case in her right hand, leaving her left open for Starkey to curl his fingers around hers.

Now it was Claire's turn to freeze. She wanted this more than she was willing to admit, but she didn't want to embarrass her... to embarrass him.

"Your hands are cold. I'm trying to keep them warm," Starkey said in his usual tone, completely devoid of inflection, but there was a spot of color on his cheeks despite his excuse and his lack of tone that told everything.

If you knew him, you knew that he was practically screaming.

Claire took some form of comfort at the fact that he was just as nervous as she was.

They stepped outside and saw Valentina and Dason sitting at the smoothie shop across the way, tall glasses of health snack in front of them. When Claire and Starkey came out, Dason saw them first, and Claire saw him do something that she had never seen him do unless he had a weapon in his hands.

He took his hands out of his pockets and put them on the table. Even from this distance, Claire could see that his knuckles were white with the grip that he maintained on the buffed steel tabletop.

Valentina took notice of this and found it just as strange, followed Dason's line of sight, and her mouth dropped open.

She started to say something, likely along the lines of a sky-splitting "WHAT?!" until Dason kicked her under the table. Starkey let go of Claire's hand to pull out her chair and tucked it in as she sat down. "I'll go and put in our order," he said as he bent down to talk to her. "I'll be back in a moment."

Valentina and Dason remained speechless for a moment before Dason, for a change, beat Valentina to the punch.

"What happened in there?" he asked. His hands still clutched the top of the table so hard that Claire thought the steel would crack any second.

"I'd... rather wait until Starkey came back," Claire said, meeting each of her teammates' eyes before she pulled them away.

"Zapfish above, did you two-" Valentina started to ask, then let out a yelp as Dason kicked her under the table again.

They sat in silence until Starkey returned. For Valentina, it was a stunned silence. For Dason and Claire, it was just plain uncomfortable.

The silence turned confused when Starkey set down a smoothie of dubious origin in front of Claire. It looked like mud, tinted with green.

"What... is that?" Claire asked as Starkey sat down.

"Banana, apple, spinach, chickpeas, and dark chocolate. High in iron content," Starkey explained before he looked at Valentina and Dason.

"Did you tell them?" he asked.

"I was waiting for you," Claire replied.

She dropped her hand off the table and Starkey took it again without hesitation. Valentina had yet to pick up her jaw off the floor.

Claire took a sip of her smoothie. It tasted better than it looked by at least two orders of magnitude.

She told them.

She told them everything.

She knew that the only reason why she could was because Starkey was holding her hand the entire time.

When she finished telling them, Valentina immediately stood up and ran around the table to hug Claire. It was an awkward hug, due to Valentina staying standing while Claire was seated, but Valentina still hugged her as tightly as she knew her mother would when Claire told her family about her relapse.

"You don't need to do that anymore. You don't. Not while we're here. You hear me?" Valentina said. Claire could hear the tears in her voice.

Next to Claire, Dason nodded and removed one of his hands from the table (his grip wasn't nearly as tight now), and he offered his fist.

Claire pressed her knuckles against his.

She had three people touching her, showing her affection in the face of what she had done to herself. Starkey holding her hand, Valentina with her arms wrapped around her head, and Dason with his fist pushing against hers.

She knew that she was safe with them.

She knew that she would be okay.


	14. Chapter 14

Telling her parents about the whole thing went about as well as she could have expected.

Charity cried, though not nearly as much as she had in the hospital. Michael hugged both of them with a strength that Claire couldn't have possibly imagined from those slender arms. She supposed there was some truth to the idea that a father could be as strong as his family needed him to be.

She gave the razor blade back to her father, who immediately cast it in the trash and hugged her again.

"I'm glad you overcame this," he told her, speaking words that sounded like they came from both of Claire's parents. "I'm proud of you."

She knew that he was talking about being proud of her for stopping herself, but she didn't feel like she'd done anything he should be proud of. She doubted she'd understand unless she became a parent, herself.

They had dinner together that night, and they were all cheerful and their usual chatty selves because they'd already discussed the elephant in the room, even though Charity kept on looking at Claire's plate to see how much she had been eating.

That stopped when Claire asked for seconds, and everything was back to normal.

The scabs stopped itching in a couple of days and scarred over after two weeks, and she even told her parents about how she and Starkey were... together-together.

When Michael was out at work, Charity started asking all the awkward questions.

"So," she said while she and Claire were sitting in the living room with a couple of books and a companionable silence in the air, "You and Starkey, huh?"

"Mom!" Claire said, and she knew that her face was darkening with color.

"Come on," Charity prodded, "Any guy that can win over my favorite daughter has to be something special."

"I'm your only daughter," Claire said flatly.

"Doesn't mean that you're not my favorite," Charity replied, pulling her legs up onto the couch and leaning on the arm so she could listen a little more closely to her daughter. "Tell me more. Just us girls."

"Well... you know that he's a turf war fanatic," Claire said through her embarrassment, "But he's gentle. He's a good teacher, a good friend, and you saw how hard he is to read."

"I've seen statues change their expressions more," Charity said, but upon seeing Claire's head shake, her expression changed. "Wait, he's not always like that?"

"No!" Claire said defensively, "It's just... different. You have to learn to read him, and it's kind of tough, but he's a good guy."

"Even I can tell that," Charity said with a warm and motherly smile, "So... what have you guys done so far?"

Claire found a very loud and very shrill voice screaming at the top of its lungs inside her at that notion. Sometimes she felt like that even something as simple as a chaste kiss could be as bad as telling her mom that they had done the do, and Claire cut off all further attempts at conversation by covering her face and groaning loudly.

Michael came home a couple of hours later and fell into his easy chair with a long sigh of contentment. "It's good to be home," he said as he looked at the two women on the couch and the loveseat. "Anything interesting happen while I was out?"

"We read," Claire cut in before Charity could say anything, "We didn't talk about anything."

Michael arched an eyebrow. Charity gave him a sly wink that Claire caught and immediately protested with "Moooom!"

While Charity started to spill all of the juicy details that Claire had provided about Starkey, and Claire began to protest, a series of quick text messages came her way.

 **Starkey:** Hey.  
**Starkey:** Training for tomorrow is starting tonight.  
**Starkey:** Got us a slot at Camp Triggerfish.  
**Starkey:** Pack an overnight bag.  
**Starkey:** I'll be by in 30 for pickup

Claire blanched as she stared at her phone.

"Um... Mom? Dad?" Claire asked.

"Yes?" they said simultaneously as they shifted their gazes over to her. Immediately, frowns of concern creased both faces as they looked at her.

"Claire, sweetie?" Charity asked, "Are you alright?"

"Starkey's coming over to pick me up. Apparently we're doing an overnight stay at Camp Triggerfish for training," she said. Her parents hadn't met any of the team, and she knew how they would react regarding their daughter going out to places unknown with company they hadn't met.

Their reaction was not what they expected.

"Camp Triggerfish!" Michael said excitedly as he sat forward on the edge of his easy chair, "Of course you can go! Oh, goodness, that brings back memories, doesn't it, Char?"

"It certainly does," Charity replied with a tone in her voice that Claire did not really appreciate, "That's where your father and I first met, you know."

"I... remember you mentioned it," Claire replied.

"I can't tell you how many times you splatted me that match," Michael said with nostalgia in his voice, "Though I still think it was because you distracted me by being the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen."

Claire excused herself from the conversation to pack. She even covered her ears so she wouldn't hear her mom's response.

Two changes of socks, an extra pair of shoes, two shirts, pajamas, a small shower kit with necessities enough for two days (just in case), an extra pair of pants, two changes of underwear. It had been a while since she had gone camping (if the place's name was any indication, she figured that's what she'd be doing), and decided to throw sunblock and bug spray in her bag just be sure.

Either she had spent more time than necessary thinking about what to bring, or Starkey had given a bad estimate on time, because the doorbell had rung just as she finished zipping up her bag.

Claire bolted to the door and skidded to a stop, her knees weakening as she saw her mom talking to Starkey at the door.

"Starkey!" Charity said with a chipper and cheerful tone, "It's so nice to see you again. Please, come in! Can I get you something to drink?"

"I'm just here to pick up Claire," he said as he stepped inside. Even so, he respectfully took off his shoes at the door and made his way deeper into the house. He glanced down the hallway and saw Claire and he froze, mid-step, to the point where Claire thought that he would topple over, especially between the weight of his gear case and the backpack he had across his shoulders. 

He started moving again with ease, though, and made his way to Claire with a smile that only touched his eyes. It would take someone that knew exactly what they were looking for to see how the corners of his eyes creased slightly and twinkled like starlight.

"Hey," he said, "Are you just about ready?"

Even though his eyes showed that he was happy, his expression and voice remained as impassive as ever.

"I just need to double-check my bag, but that's it," Claire said, "I think I have everything, but you can never be too sure."

"Sounds about right," Starkey said as Michael came up behind him.

Then, something strange happened.

Michael surprised Starkey. The expression on his face was unmistakable as he turned around to face Claire's dad after being clapped on the back.

"Starkey, m'boy!" Michael said jovially, the perfect image of a father figure. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

That was strange, Claire realized. Not that Michael wanted to talk to Starkey, but rather that he had been silent enough to come up behind Starkey without being noticed.

Claire's Captain seemed to have this uncanny ability to even find inklings using Ninja Squid, and he never hesitated to exploit it. That her father was able to come up on him unnoticed, even distracted as he had been, was inconcievable.

"Sure," Starkey said. He'd regained his composure in half a heartbeat, and now stood facing the other inkling with what some would consider an almost comical height difference. Michael was a head shorter than Charity, and Starkey was almost as tall as Charity was.

So if Michael looked straight ahead, he would have been staring at Starkey's chin.

The two stepped aside, with Michael seeming to give Starkey a bit of fatherly advice from his own days at Camp Triggerfish, and Starkey listened quietly and nodded in agreement bit by bit.

Claire stepped away to double-check her bag, only to be interrupted by her mother with an armful of goodies.

"You have to have s'mores if you go camping," she said as she tucked chocolate, marshmallows, and graham crackers into Claire's bag, despite her daughter's protests.

Once the interlude on sweets had stopped, Claire walked back towards the living room where Michael was apparently finishing up his talk with Starkey.

Starkey looked... different. Paler. The smile was gone from his eyes, and there was something in them that Claire hadn't seen before. Rather, if she had seen it, she had dismissed it as an impossibility.

Fear.

From Claire's perspective, "Fear" and "Starkey" were used in the same sentence as often as the phrases "Mr. Grizz" and "legitimate business establishment," so seeing him scared was as foreign an experience as one could get.

Charity hugged Claire tightly and gave her a great big smooch on the cheek, despite Claire's protests. Michael, on the other hand, gave Claire a hug and handed over her gear case so she wouldn't have to get it herself. No need for excessive affection today.

"Have fun, you two!" Charity said with a wave as the kids left, and the door closed with a click of finality behind them.

Starkey was silent the entire walk to the train station, and only spoke once they were on the outbound for Camp Triggerfish.

"Hey Claire?" Starkey asked. His voice was as even as ever, but the paleness of his face and the set of his eyes ensured that there was no mistaking how he was feeling.

"Yeah?" she replied.

"What's your last name?"

"Cloud, why?"

Starkey said nothing. Claire wasn't even sure if he was breathing.

You had to know the man. He was practically screaming.

"That means that your father is Mike Cloud," he said quietly.

"Um... yeah. Some of his friends call him Mike, but he's just 'Dad' to me," Claire said. She wasn't sure where this was going.

"Do you have any idea who your father is?" Starkey asked.

"He's an accountant for Bass and Fisher."

Starkey turned to her and said, "The great Mike Cloud is an accountant?" Though his voice was still flat as four-day-old Pepsi, she could tell that he seethed with outrage.

"Starkey, you're not making sense. My dad, Michael Cloud, is an accountant. Why are you losing your cool over this?"

"Mike Cloud, about twenty years ago, was one of the greatest Luna Blasters of all time. He was one of the first people that the Turf War Administration thought needed a rank higher than S Plus," he explained, and now it was Claire's turn for her mouth to drop open.

"I knew he was a Luna Blaster main, but seriously?" She said.

"It makes sense. He's the right age," Starkey said as he shifted his gaze back to the wall across the way from them.

He still appeared nervous.

"What did he say to you?" Claire asked quietly.

"He told me who he was and promised that he'd find me if you started hurting yourself again on account of anyone on our team."

Claire frowned at that, "He's never done something like that before. What's gotten into him..."

They were silent for a little while longer before Starkey asked another random question, "What's your mother's maiden name?"

"Caliban, why?"

"You have got to be kidding me."

"Starkey, what are you talking about?"

"Your mother is Charity Caliban, the Queen of the Splat Zones," Starkey said and left it at that.

Claire wasn't satisfied, and muttered, "You're saying this like it's supposed to mean something."

"She was probably the best Aerospray MG in the business for about two years, then she retired out of nowhere. I think I know why, now," Starkey said.

Color had returned to Starkey's face, and that twinkle was in his eyes again. Claire had to resist the urge to giggle.

Starkey was fanboying over her mom. That's something that she never thought she'd see.

They didn't talk further for the remainder of the trip. Part of her wanted to tease Starkey about developing a crush on her mom, but a much bigger part of her pushed that notion into a locker for being mean and thinking mean things. Ironic.

Finally, the train slowed to a halt and a modulated voice came over the intercom to call out "Camp Triggerfish, Wahoo World junction."

Claire and Starkey rose from their seats and collected their gear and bags, and got off at an old-fashioned station that appeared to be little more than a ticket booth and a tramway. Just down the way, there was a large sign that said "Camp Triggerfish" that arched over a dirt path leading deep into a series of woods. Even so, they could see a couple of signs of life off in the distance, namely the orange glow of firelight.

"Looks like there are already people down there..." Claire said as they started down the dirt path. It was an easy walk into a valley and partway up another hill, and it looked like maybe a mile, mile and a half at most.

"You didn't think we were going to be the only ones out here, did you?" Starkey asked blandly.

"No, of course not," Claire replied with a litle more edge to her voice than she thought was warranted. "I mean it's one of the more popular places outside of Inkopolis."

"Yeah, but you have to be either really lucky, really patient, or really well-connected to get a cabin here, and they don't have any traditional campgrounds," Starkey replied, "I fall under the first category."

Claire listened to Starkey speaking, but her attention was elsewhere as she looked around at all of the scenery. It was beginning to approach autumn and some of the leaves on the deciduous trees in the area were already starting to turn shades of yellow and orange mingled with green. About six more weeks, and this place would be absolutely beautiful.

"Wow," Claire breathed as she watched all of the scenery around her. It was the kind of forest that you would expect to see in the movies, and even as the sun dipped down over the horizon, several lampposts lit up along the walkway to prevent the potential campers from walking in the dark.

"It really is something," Starkey agreed, "I'd only ever seen pictures before."

Claire frowned at him for a second then said, "But we've played at Camp Triggerfish dozens of times."

"Not the same," Starkey said, his voice taking on a firm edge, "You stop to appreciate the scenery there, you're dead."

She couldn't argue with such ironclad logic. There had been more than a few times when she had stopped to stare at Starkey during the middle of a match, back before they had become an official item, and it had resulted in her getting splatted more often than not.

One could always save their pining for after the match, even though it resulted in a higher likelihood of getting caught.

At least Claire didn't have to pine anymore.

Soon, Claire started to hear music, and her ears perked up at the thought. They had to be getting close.

It wasn't long until they passed through an archway much like the one that they had seen at the train station, and Claire's face lit up like New Year's fireworks.

A good dozen cabins were scattered about a massive clearing, along with a three-story lodge made of thick timbers and logs. A bonfire was in the center of the clearing, flames leaping almost twenty feet into the air and kissing the rapidly darkening sky. Off to one side, a spider crab wielded cooking implements in six hands with a massive cooking range next to him. Claire thought she had seen the same scene on an oven mitt, except it was done in an older style with the caption "I'll feed all you fuckers."

Claire had bought that oven mitt for her dad for Father's Day one year, and he found it hilarious.

All across the clearing, several people walked around with some kind of campfire treat or another in hand, ranging from grilled hot dogs to burgers to baked potatoes in trays of silvery foil.

"Come on," Starkey said as he started to drag her away, "We still have to check in at the front desk."

She didn't want to leave. Everyone was laughing and interacting, and they all appeared to be having a blast. Most of the teams present were Starkey and Claire's age (or just missing them by a year or two at most), but there were two adult teams that appeared to be on a business trip and wore the same t-shirts to indicate that they were all part of the same group.

The lodge's lobby had a concierge desk set up with an older anemone with snow-white tentacles sitting behind it. She appeared to be doing a sudoku puzzle as Starkey and Claire approached, and he muttered, "Get out your ID."

"Showing up a little late, aren't we?" The anemone said as she bookmarked her puzzle and set it aside. "May I see your identification?"

Claire and Starkey handed it over and she adjusted the pair of small, round glasses on the bridge of her nose to examine the IDs, murmuring to herself as she did so.

"I see... I see... Last minute reservation. Saw that somebody had canceled for tonight and tomorrow morning, I assume?" she said. A name tag on the breast of her blouse read "Reba."

"That would be correct," Starkey confirmed. Reba typed away quickly on a keyboard, showing off the skill of someone who had been born in the age where the concept of a portable phone was a pipe dream at best.

"It seems that the other two members of your party have already arrived. A Ms. Valentina, and a Mr. Dason, if the reservation reads correctly," Reba said before she glanced up at Starkey and Claire over her glasses.

"That saves us the trouble of chasing them down," Starkey said, and Claire had to suppress a giggle. Whenever Starkey spoke, it was always a matter of Serious Business.

"You're in cabin nine. Here are your keys," Reba said as she handed over two keyrings that each had a brass ring etched with a number nine and a large key that looked like it was better suited for opening prison doors than cabin doors. "Enjoy your stay at Camp Triggerfish."

Claire and Starkey each took one of the keys. They were deceptively heavy, which is saying something about a large hunk of metal that already looks like it would kill a rat if it was dropped.

They skirted the revelry around the bonfire and made their way towards cabin nine, only to find a mildly irritating sight.

Dason and Valentina had already claimed one of the rooms for themselves, which meant that Claire and Starkey would have to stay in the other.

This would have been an incredibly exciting prospect if it weren't for two things: First, that this would be the first time that they'd ever slept in the same room together. Second, that Claire was pretty sure that her parents didn't sign off on her going to Camp Triggerfish to sleep in the same room as her boyfriend.

Starkey, unsurprisingly, was unfazed, and tossed his bag onto one bed before gingerly setting the gear case down next to it. He'd taken the one further away from the door, and Claire stared at him, unmoving despite herself.

"What are you waiting for?" Starkey said.

"I'm just nervous about us staying in the same room together," Claire admitted with a nervous laugh even as she tore her eyes away from his. It was embarrassing enough to think about without putting the thoughts into words.

"Why would you be-" Starkey said, then paused, then froze.

Apparently, he finally got it.

When he moved again, he said, "I'll make Dason switch with you. You'll be a lot more comfortable with Valentina anyways."

"No, I-!" Claire protested, her hands extended towards Starkey in order to stop him from going out and finding Valentina's place around the bonfire.

Starkey stopped.

"I'm okay with it. I just... I don't want there to be any expectations of anything because I'm not ready for that to happen yet," Claire said, clearly embarrassed about the mere concept that she was in the midst of discussing.

Starkey stared at her, then gazed pointedly at the two beds, a foot and change apart. "I don't think there's any worry about that."

Claire smiled softly. She knew that he was trying to be funny. It was something that he did once in a blue moon, and it could be endearing more often than not. 

Claire put her gear case and bag down, and the pair went out to the bonfire.

More so than the smell of burning wood, Claire was assaulted by the smell of cooking meat, and her stomach gurgled in protest. Only now did she realize that she had missed dinner because Starkey came by to pick her up.

"I could go for a bite," she admitted sheepishly.

"I'm a bit peckish too," Starkey agreed, and they made their way over to the spider crab that was flipping burgers, snapping tongs, and putting new items and accoutrements on the grill as he worked.

"Wah'gwan, my youth?" the spider crab said (his own name tag revealed his name to be Rudy), "D'ye see someting I and I can do for you?"

Only now did Claire notice that there was a young urchin boy that was prepping food and passing it up to Rudy right behind him. It was an efficient assembly line, and Rudy didn't even need to look at the grill to see what he was doing.

"Burger with all the fixins," Starkey said.

"Hot dog with ketchup, please," Claire responded.

"Sight," Rudy replied, and he had the order fixed up in a matter of seconds. The hot dogs were more like thick sausages, and the burger patties still glistened with grease, but Claire could tell that they would be hot and pink inside. Rudy served them on a pair of paper plates, and went back to his effortless work.

"Claiiiiiire! Starkeyyyyy!" a voice called from behind them just before they got ready to take the first bite of their meal, and the pair turned around to see Valentina and Dason walking towards them. Valentina was wearing a pair of jeans and a heavy jacket, as appropriate for a chilly early-autumn night, while Dason wore the exact same outfit that he always wore.

"Do you ever take that thing off?" Claire asked as she stared at his gas mask.

Dason shook his head.

"I'm so excited for this!" Valentina said as she practically threw herself in to hug Starkey, "You're my new favorite person. Sorry, Dason."

With an expression of discontent on his face, Starkey moved the burger up over his head and awkwardly hugged her back with his free hand. "You're welcome. Did you hear about the events for tomorrow?"

"Sure did!" Valentina chirped, and Claire saw Dason's shoulders hunch up slightly, a gesture of anticipation, and Claire wondered what they could possibly have in store that would get her occasionally bloodthirsty comrade so in the mood.

"What are we looking at?" Starkey asked as the four of them made their way over to a small set of logs that were arranged like chairs around a flat-topped piece of stone.

"Not a damn thing! Looks like it's going to be more of a wheel-of-fortune game with sinkers and floaters, lumberjack olympics, the works," Valentina said, and Claire immediately chimed in, her voice filled with confusion.

"Wait, what? I thought you said that this was a team-building thing!" she protested, "You're making it sound like we're going to be playing sports!"

"Well, yeah," Starkey said, and while his tone didn't make it sound like it was the most obvious thing in the world, his words certainly did.

"It's what most of Camp Triggerfish is actually known for!" Valentina said as she bounced up and down. "Contests between teams in order to see who can come out on top and get bragging rights over those groups!"

Claire blanched. She knew that the light of the fire was likely making her skin look the same shade as a certain internationally embarrassing dorito.

May the Great Zapfish protect her.


	15. Chapter 15

Claire slept well that night. Starkey had thrown open a window to let in the cool evening breeze and the scents of pine, and they lulled her right off to sleep as if they had been a mother's song to a baby.

The enjoyment of her sleep was only matched by the unpleasantness of her wake-up call.

Apparently there were speakers mounted on a pole just outside each of the cabins, because Claire was jolted awake by the sound of Reville being played by someone with no talent for the bugle and no idea how Reville was supposed to sound in the first place.

Her sitting bolt upright with panic on her face was a contrast to how Starkey just lay in bed, staring at the ceiling with his eyes hidden behind one of those little masks they give you on long-distance flights.

Despite his placid features, Claire figured that he was furious behind that mask.

While Claire crawled out of bed and stretched to the point most of her joints had popped, Starkey sat upright and rose like a robot awakening from hibernation.

"Goooooooood morning, Camp Triggerfish!" a bombastic voice called out over the speakers, and a spot of feedback caused Claire to wince, and Starkey to audibly grind his teeth together.

"Whoops, sorry about that," the voice called again without any feedback this time. "Welcome, welcome, one and all! Chow is going to be in thirty minutes at the main lodge, and after that, we'll be able to get started on today's festivities! Be there or be square!"

With that, the speakers cut off and Starkey finally took off his eye mask.

"What was that?" Claire asked.

"Our host," Starkey replied as he stood up and put his eyemask back in his bag.

"Our host is loud," Claire said as she rubbed her ears, as if to accentuate that fact.

"I'd heard about her, but I never believed the stories. I was wrong," Starkey said as he straightened up with his change of clothes from his gear case in one hand and his shaving kit and towel in the other.

Someone had beaten him to the punch, though, and the sounds of running water came on the other side.

"Not cool," Starkey said, and the deficit of satisfaction (or anything else for that matter) really drove home how uncool the whole thing was.

On the other side of the door, presumably from the shower, someone began laughing maniacally. It was too masculine to be Valentina, but it didn't sound like Dason... but it had to be Dason. There was no way that it could be anyone else because there was nobody else in their cabin.

But the laughter wasn't nearly muffled enough by a gas mask to be their fourth teammate.

The gears started turning in Claire and Starkey's heads. They looked at each other. Starkey blinked for a second.

"I haven't seen him with the mask off," Starkey said quietly.

"Neither have I," Claire whispered.

"This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity."

"How should we play it?"

"Walk in on him and feign innocence?" Starkey suggested.

"No!" Claire hissed. "I don't want to see Dason naked!"

"Fine. I'll do it, then," Starkey said as he opened the door.

Claire started to stammer out excuses, reasoning of some kind or another, and reached out for Starkey as he went to the cabin's bathroom, but stopped short when Starkey opened the door, stared into the bathroom for a moment, then closed it again without saying a word.

He turned back towards Claire and walked stiffly back to their side of the cabin.

"What happened?" Claire asked.

"His mask was on the counter," Starkey said, and there was a quality to his voice that made him sound like he was trying to convince himself of what the hell had just happened. "His mask was on the counter, then it wasn't."

"What?" Claire asked again in disbelief.

"Just poof. Gone. Like whenever he eats," Starkey continued. Claire stared at him for a second and shook her head. There was no way that Starkey would lie about something like that, especially not when doing so served any purpose aside from giving a cheap laugh to someone or another.

"There is something severely wrong with that guy," Claire said, "I think he might have been a magician in a past life."

"Or he's possessed," Starkey said.

"I don't want to think about that," Claire said firmly. Starkey shrugged in acquiescence and flopped back on the bed.

Fortunately, Dason showered quick.

Unfortunately, Valentina was right behind him, and laughed just as maniacally at Starkey as Dason had. She ducked inside the recently-vacated bathroom while Starkey tried to dive for the doorknob. He landed on the ground just out of reach and thumped his fist on the floorboards in frustration.

Claire looked up to see Dason staring at them with an almost smug air about him, though that might have just been Claire projecting what she thought Dason must be feeling right now.

Once again, he proved Claire wrong by reaching down and offering to help Starkey to his feet.

Starkey got up and dusted off, and the two stared for a moment before they shared a brief, barely perceptible nod. Dason left, presumably to get breakfast, while Starkey went back to the room he shared with Claire.

"You can go ahead and take the next one," Starkey said. He didn't sound defeated, but, then again, Claire often had a hard time putting emotion to his words.

"Are you sure?" Claire asked.

"I'm sure," Starkey confirmed just as he took the pamphlet from off the bedside table and began reading through it. Claire had seen that he had gone through it the day before, but she couldn't tell if he was bored or if he was trying to figure out a plan of attack for the events that they would have to face during the day.

Claire went in the hallway when she heard the water stop, and Valentina stepped out with one towel wrapped around her body, and her tentacles done up in another. "All yours, boss!" she called, then arched an eyebrow at Claire as she saw that it wasn't Starkey waiting out in the hallway.

"He's giving you his turn?"

"Apparently," Claire said with a shrug. Valentina gave a knowing smile and tapped the side of her nose with an index finger before she walked back into her room, presumably to get changed.

Claire slipped in and turned on the water as hot as she could stand it (thank goodness her teammates hadn't used all of it up before she got in), and rinsed herself off really quick. She got herself done up in the same towel toga style that Valentina had worn, and stepped out with her beakbrush in her mouth before she called out, "All yours, Starkey."

It was a little muffled because she was brushing her teeth as she walked, but he still understood and stepped out of the room.

He paused and looked at her a moment when they passed each other in the hallway, and she thought he was going to lean in and kiss her, but he didn't. Instead he just moved on to the bathroom and closed it.

Claire finished brushing her beak, put on deodorant, and got dressed quick as a blink while Starkey was in the bathroom, and had just finished tying her shoes when he stepped back into the room, fully dressed and ready for action.

"We should get going. Dason probably won't leave anything for the rest of us if we don't," Starkey said as he tossed his shaving kit on the bed and hung the damp towel across the back of a chair near the window.

Claire stood up as a form of agreement and asked, "Where does he even put it anyways?"

"I don't know," Starkey said with a shake of his head. "I'm convinced that he just has a lot of stuff hiding up his sleeves at all times."

They met Valentina out front of the cabin, and she grinned at the pair as they walked off the front porch in step. "So..." Valentina teased. "I didn't hear anything from your side of the cabin last night..."

"Not another word," Claire said, and her face began to darken at the mere thought of what she and Starkey could have been doing that would have made noise.

Starkey just stared at Valentina for a moment. Then, as if in response to her insinuations about what they hadn't been doing, he took Claire's hand in his own and walked along with her, leaving Valentina behind. Claire's face darkened, and it only took Valentina a moment to stop laughing long enough to catch up to the pair.

When they walked into the lodge, it was bedlam, though not the kind that you would expect from a continental breakfast at a well-established camp.

Instead, there was a fight on the verge of breaking out between two of the adult teams (rival corporate interests, apparently), as well as a very heated argument between two of the girls on the same team who seemed to be fighting over a third girl, an octoling who looked like she would rather be anywhere but here.

Furthermore, there were at least a dozen people crowded around a single table that occasionally lost their minds every thirty seconds or so because of something that happened at the table proper.

"What's going on over there?" Claire asked as they went up to the breakfast table. She got herself a glass of orange juice while Starkey muttered about the noted lack of cranberry. Valentina snagged a double-chocolate muffin, a cheese danish, and a green apple while she spoke.

"Probably hamster racing," she said as she got a glass of what could only be described as "Green Drink-like Substance" from a pitcher.

Both Starkey and Claire stared at her with an expression of bewilderment. At least, Claire could only assume that's what Starkey wore on his face. She, on the other hand, had her jaw nearly on the floor as she stared at Valentina.

"What? It's a thing," she replied with a shrug and started to scan the crowds in order to pick out where Dason was sitting. "Huh... that's weird."

"What's weird," Starkey said, less as a question and more as an order.

"I can't find Dason anywhere."

"Maybe he's in the group around the table?" Claire suggested.

Valentina started to say something, then stopped as a thought came to her. She shook her head and walked towards the group around the table. Claire and Starkey looked at each other for a moment, then followed suit.

Through the crowd, they caught glimpses of a single inkling sitting at the table, and Claire finally understood as she saw that the posture and gas mask that the person wore exactly matched Dason.

She also glimpsed a piece of fruit on the table.

When her steps broke line of sight to the pear, people cheered, and the next glimpse that she had of it a second later, she saw a massive bite taken out of it.

"Oh thank goodness," Claire said with a sense of relief.

"What?" Starkey asked.

"I thought I was crazy," Claire said, "I'd look at Dason's food and it would be one amount, then I'd look at it a moment later, and some of it would be gone, but he wouldn't have moved."

"Yeah, I had that same kind of reaction when I first met him, too," Starkey said. "It's worse if you ever catch him sneezing."

Claire tilted her head at that.

"He just holds up a handkerchief to the end of his mask, sneezes, then puts the now-snotty handkerchief away," Starkey explained.

At this point, Claire stopped questioning Dason's specific brand of weird. What she did not realize is that if she desired to understand the exact nature of Dason's weirdness, she would need doctorates in at least three branches of particle physics.

Claire, Starkey, and Valentina took their seats and began to eat their breakfast and at least formulate some kind of plan for the day.

"So what should we expect, today?" Claire asked.

"Two-team contests, ranging from tug-of-war to an obstacle course," Starkey said. Somehow, Claire was not surprised at the fact that Starkey seemed to have a clue about what they should expect.

"So I'm guessing it's done as kind of a round-robin style competition?" Valentina asked.

"The elimination system is arbitrary at best," Starkey clarified as he took a sip of apple juice (an unfortunate second choice, but one that had to be made), and glanced up at the stage. "I'm willing to bet dollars to donuts that they're going to make the big announcement there."

"Donuts usually run close to a dollar, though..." Valentina said as she took a bite of her muffin. "Sixty-nine cents at the very least."

"You know what I meant," Starkey said as he peeled the orange on his plate and began to meticulously divide it into segments.

Claire didn't say anything. Instead, she chose to keep her ears open and listened to the sounds of the lodge.

The two inklings fighting over the octoling had quieted down and were muttering to themselves while the adult teams were bringing out all the reciepts... literally. The captains of each team were bringing up the rival business's stock prices rising and falling, the successes or failures of various products, and generally being really petty towards one another.

Claire was glad that she didn't have that kind of drama in her life. Instead, she had completely different kinds of drama that could potentially be more lethal and had left a lot more scars than just the emotional, but she still didn't want to think about business or numbers.

That was something better suited for her dad.

She finished up the croissant that she'd gotten for herself as she thought about her family. Both of her parents were legends of Turf War that had retired and gone of the grid. There were a lot of questions of "Why?"

But there was also another question of whether or not they were happy. They always seemed that way, but she still wondered if the Turf Wars called to her parents at all.

Maybe they did.

If that was the case, neither Michael nor Charity brought it up.

"Goooooooooood morning, everyone!" came the same voice as from the speakers that morning, though there was no trace of feedback this time.

Immediately, the room quieted down and everyone perked up to see an orange-and-red comet streaking through the air to finish the super jump right on top of the stage.

The squid resolved itself into a tall inkling with a hairstyle and fashion that would have made a 1980s hair metal band proud, and she beamed widely at everyone that had gathered in the lounge. "My name is Ius Tigerfish," she said, and that simple fact got a lot of people gasping and muttering among themselves.

"That's Tigerfish?" Valentina muttered to Starkey. "She's... a lot different than I expected."

"Just goes to show that you can have a weird taste in fashion and still be a cutthroat businessman," Starkey replied.

"And Welcome to Camp Triggerfish!" Ius finished as she threw her hands up in the air. Her mere presence was electrifying, and shouts and cheers rippled through the assembled crowd of almost fifty.

"You're all here for the same reason," Ius said as she walked off the stage, still speaking into her microphone. Her voice would have carried just fine on its own, but the wireless mic ensured that she would be heard by everyone in the building. "You want to become the champions of our little games. You want to stand at the top, get yourself some bragging rights, and be recognized as the badasses you are!"

More cheers from the crowd. Even Dason was on his feet, though his hands were still stuffed into his pockets.

"Well then," Ius said, "Are you ready?!"

"Yeah!" everyone said in unison. Even Claire felt herself caught up in the game-show-like atmosphere and cheered with everyone as Ius let out a raucous laugh.

"Very well, then!" she said and pointed with one hand towards the stage, where the curtain just behind it began to rise up, "Kenny, let's see our brackets!"

Behind the curtain was another inkling that looked like Ius's polar opposite. While she wore bright, popping colors, he was drab in browns and forest greens. His eyes seemed to bulge out of their sockets, and his beak appeared to be too large for his mouth, resulting in a rather large overbite. His shoulders were stooped, his legs bowed, and all in all, he looked like a caricature.

But when he spoke, Claire realized something: If he had the face for radio, he definitely had the voice to match.

"All right, everyone," Kenny said in a voice that sounded like a lazy river filled with warm chocolate, "Let's have a look-see at the brackets..."

He gestured behind him, and a projector flickered on to display a dozen team names organized in a simple bracket. Of course, Claire was aware that with the "rules? what rules?" mechanic, this was likely to get complicated much more quickly.

Claire squinted at the screen as Kenny continued to speak. "We'll start at the bottom left, then work our way across. Our first match is going to be... Ius? Would you do the honors?"

"Righto!" she said from across the room just as she lifted another curtain to reveal a massive wheel divided up into sections, each with a flat color as a background and a single image as the foreground.

"Our first round will beeeeeee~" Ius said as she heaved on the wheel and set it to spinning. Everyone watched it closely with breath held. Claire had no idea what was going on, but the tension in the air was so thick that one could cut it with a knife.

The wheel started to slow down, and Claire's breath hitched. She didn't even know who was playing in the first round, nor what any of these images meant.

The wheel stopped squarely in the middle of a wedge with a circular stone floating in a field of brackish blue.

"Round one!" Ius called out, "Sinkers and Floaters between the Fugucorp Blowfish and the Bad Squiddos!"

Claire blanched, and she started to stammer something out about how she had no idea what on earth she was supposed to be doing, or if she was supposed to do anything at all.

"Well, Claire," Valentina said as she clapped her friend on the back. "Time to show them what we've got!"

Claire had a very bad feeling about this, and looking at the wild fire in Starkey's eyes as he stared at the wheel didn't help her in the slightest.

What did she get herself involved with this time?


	16. Chapter 16

The name of the game became obvious pretty much right out of the gate. "Sinkers and Floaters" was a game where each team had to cross a body of water (in this case, a sizable pond about fifty meters across) using stones that were set up in a staggered array.

The trick? The stones were actually made out of styrofoam, and some of them were firmly rooted in the bed of the pond while others were held in place by a length of rope underneath them.

So, when you stepped on one, would you sink or would you float? That was the key.

Ius, of course, outlined it all in a much grander fashion with the type of attitude that you would expect from a game show host.

"The name of the game!" she declared to the crowd, "Is Sinkers and Floaters!"

All of the teams not involved in the first match were in a set of bleachers behind the two teams' respawn points and cheered wildly. A group of adult voices (the rivals of the Fugucorp Blowfish, more likely than not) hollered out "Go Bad Squiddos!" louder than anyone else.

Claire shifted from foot to foot and watched her team. Starkey and Dason had that quiet intensity that they usually had about them whenever they were about to start a match, while Valentina bounced on the balls of her feet and seemed ready to sprint right out across the pond already. A glance at her team's opponents showed four well-groomed businessmen that could have been quadruplets, especially since they all wore the same clothes.

The looked more like an organization than Claire's team, and she swallowed at the thought. They'd probably been working together longer, too.

"Relax," Starkey said, and claire snapped out of it. She looked up at him with curious eyes, and he glanced down at her in return.

"They're trying to psych you out by appearing in sync," Starkey said, "we can do better than them."

Claire swallowed and turned to listen to Ius again. In the background, Kenny was demonstrating how the game worked as Ius explained.

"Each of those stepping-stones is either a sinker or a floater," she said. Kenny stepped out onto one of the stones and it held his weight.

"Floaters will hold your weight and let you keep on going," Ius said.

Kenny stepped onto the second one and immediately dropped into the water. The stone came floating back up, and, aside from the ripples, it looked like nothing had happened at all.

"Sinkers, on the other hand," Ius continued, "Will not. You fall in the water, you go back to spawn."

On cue, Kenny's squid ghost came out of the water and settled on a spawn point before resolving in the cartoonish inkling once again.

"The first team to have all four members make it to the other side wins the match!" Ius called out, and gestured at the pond. "Are you ready?"

"No," Claire's inner voice insisted, but she still got down into a crouch and stared out at the expanse of water.

"On your marks... get set..." Ius said, and she removed a starting pistol from the small of her back and fired it up in the air.

"Go!" The pistol went off with a sharp crack and Claire's team surged forward. Off to one side, Claire saw Valentina fall under as the first stone she stepped on turned out to be a sinker. She went down with a mess of curses that Claire hoped didn't make it to the stands.

Starkey went under on the second stone, and even as he went underwater, Claire saw that his expression never changed.

Claire stepped on one, two, three stones, then the fourth didn't hold her weight. She vanished underneath with a shout and the cold water of Camp Triggerfish crashed over her.

It took her a moment to get back up from the spawn, and she let out a slight cough as she tried to expel some of the pond water that had gotten in her mouth.

While she did, she looked to see how the Blowfish were doing, and found herself staring at them in shock.

Ius, naturally, gave excellent commentary.

"The Bad Squiddos make an impressive showing right out the gate with one team member leading the way. But the Fugucorp Blowfish..." she paused and walked over to one of the three businessmen that were standing side by side with notepads in hands. "Excuse me, guys, are you taking notes?"

The businessman nodded.

"Yup," Ius confirmed for the sake of the crowd. "They're taking notes. All work and no play, huh, boys?"

Again, the businessman nodded. Claire was so stunned she couldn't find her way to her feet for a good moment, but she shook that notion off and rose up to make another run for it.

Dason had played it safe, and appeared to be looking before he leapt. It wasn't all that impressive of a showing, but he was already more than halfway across the pond. The Blowfish were catching up, one stone at a time, one player at a time.

Claire tried to follow in Dason's footsteps, and immediately sank under.

She worried at her lip with her teeth as she respawned and saw Dason right next to her.

"What happened?" she asked. The crowd behind them cheered as the runner for the Blowfish went under and his next teammate started out.

"Fell," Dason said, as if that answered everything. Though, to tell the truth, it did.

Claire looked over at the Blowfish and saw that their runner had gotten further than any of theirs had, even if he went under just as Claire looked.

"They're making a map," Claire said in realization, then stood up and grabbed Valentina before she could run out again. "They're making a map! If we do the same thing, then we'll be able to make it across."

"How would we do that?" Valentina asked in exasperation.

"We all go for the same stone, one right after the other. If one of us sinks, then we know that it's no good and we find another," Claire said. She spoke quick because their team was making more and more headway even as they squabbled.

"It's a good plan," Starkey said once he had respawned as well, then looked over at Dason. "You've gotten the furthest so far. You take the lead."

Dason grunted and nodded before he started off at a loping run. His hands didn't come out of his pockets, but he bounced from stone to stone easily, and his team followed, just one step behind.

They made it a little further than the halfway point when Dason went under with a loud exhalation of breath like he got the wind knocked out of him, and Claire stared at the stone that had sunk underneath him.

She chose the one directly to the left and leapt.

It held fast.

The next one, just ahead and to the right, did not.

She sank, and respawned to see that Dason was already almost caught up with the team again. The Blowfish had the lead, but Valentina had made a couple of good calls, and they were gaining.

Claire started to jump across the floaters and caught up right behind Dason. Starkey was in the lead, now, and Valentina was coming up behind the group. Back at the stands, Ius still provided commentary, less like a game show and more like she was talking about a sports event.

"What a comeback! The Bad Squiddos have a pretty solid idea, and are catching up to the Blowfish! What will Fugucorp do about it? Hopefully nothing underhanded, because that's a surefire way to get disqualified!" She practically sang the last few words, and they were maybe one stone behind the Blowfish when Starkey went under. Fortunately, the frontrunner of the Blowfish sank under as well with a shouted curse.

Dason kept moving ahead, and tied the leader of the enemy team, but his next misstep meant that Claire had to take the lead again. They were probably only four stones away from victory, and the members of the Blowfish had thrown aside their notes and were now scrambling to catch up even as Dason respawned. A couple of them fell, buying Claire and her team precious seconds.

Claire stepped forward, her feet coming down on the solid floater, then ahead. Two more.

Dason had joined up with them once again, and everyone was waiting patiently for Claire's next step, even though the Blowfish were quickly catching up. It didn't look like any of them were going to fall in again, so these last few moments counted. The next stone held steady under her foot, and she let out a long breath of relief. One more.

The Blowfish were catching up.

"I'll catch you," Valentina said behind her, and Claire let out a long breath as she stepped out forward. There was a splash and a swear as one of the Blowfish fell into the water. Claire, emboldened, put her weight on the stone, and she started to yell as it gave way underneath her.

Someone's hand clasped around her wrist, and she looked back to see Valentina holding onto her while Starkey held onto Valentina, that way nobody would be too off-balance.

They pulled Claire back to safety, but not before one of the Blowfish darted past her and used a safe stone to land securely on the shore. Claire's heart sank for a second, but she pressed forward, and she stepped on the same stone that her opponent had, and her entire team settled down onto the shore one right after the other, with the remainder of the Blowfish bringing up the rear.

"Yes!" Valentina said as she gave Claire a massive hug. "Good call on the plan! Wasn't that a good call, Starkey?"

"Couldn't have done it better, myself," Starkey said, and there was a faint note of pride in his voice. Of course, considering Starkey, even so much as a hint of anything in his voice was a show of how strongly he was feeling that at the moment.

"And the winners!" Ius said as she rode up on a jetski, "Are the Bad Squiddos! All four of your team crossed the pond first, so you get to advance to the next round in the winner's bracket! And don't worry, Blowfish. You'll be able to get another chance, but that's the last one you got. Kenny! Tell our victors about their prize."

"There is no prize," Kenny's voice said over the PA system, and even those blown-out speakers sounded good with his voice coursing through them.

"Tough luck, guys," Ius said as she turned back to the winning team with a wide grin. "But head on over to the bleachers and we'll get the next game underway."

The four of them made their way back over to the bleachers as Ius called out, "Team Copper and Big Time, step on up! Let's see how well you do at Sinkers and Floaters... also, we're changing which ones are which."

There was a bubbling sound as, presumably, the playing field changed, and there was a collective groan from the teams that hadn't gone yet.

"Oh, you thought we were going to make it that easy for you?" Ius said with a wild laugh. Her starting pistol went off and the next pair of teams surged forward and started stumbling and splashing before they were able to formulate a plan.

So the morning went. After the first round, they were separated into the winner's bracket and the loser's bracket, and the Bad Squiddos soon found themselves up against a team of inklings maybe a year or two younger than them that just went by the team name "Bright." The name was fitting because their tentacles were neon colors that would show up even on a black and white film reel, and both teams stepped up to the rope that lay across a white line on the ground.

"Tug of war!" Ius called, and everyone cheered even louder. She basked in it for a moment and continued with the rules. "Pull the entire enemy team across the line on the ground to win. If you cross the line, you are 'out' and can't help your team anymore. The only ones allowed to walk away from the line are the people in the back of each team. Are you ready?!"

The audience cheered, whistled, and encouraged one side or the other. A couple of matches had gone before them, and they were brutal.

"I'll take the back," Valentina said as she gave her teammates a thumbs-up.

"No," Dason said almost immediately. Everyone's gaze shifted over to him.

"What are you on about?" Valentina said with almost a pout on her face.

"You skipped leg day. I'll take the back."

Valentina started to protest, then looked at the difference between her scrawny chicken legs and Dason's comparative tree trunks.

"Fine," she said with a groan as she stepped up to the rope. Claire had to stifle a laugh. She never expected that Dason could be so petty.

"Ready!" Ius called out as she held up an air horn. She'd cashed in the starting pistol for it earlier.

"Set!" she said, and Claire's hands gripped tighter on the rope.

"Go!" Ius said as she let out a short blast of air and both sides started pulling.

In all fairness, the members of Bright were younger and less experienced than Claire and her team so it was already slated in Bad Squiddos' favor.

Dason made it completely unfair.

He pulled the rope over his shoulder and pulled his team back as well as the opposing team, and it was all over in a matter of seconds.

Even so, everyone laughed together, and that made what would otherwise have been a humiliating defeat a little bit sweeter.

When the second round was done, everyone broke for lunch (a simple repast of sandwiches and other snacks), and Claire and Starkey sat next to one another.

"Are you having fun?" He asked her.

"I am," she admitted. Her cheeks were starting to flush and she didn't want to embarrass herself. Yes, they had their declaration of love and they'd been together-together for about two weeks now, but a not-small part of her was still thoroughly convinced that this was all some sort of dream, that she was living out a fantasy, but every time Starkey's hands curled around hers, she was reminded that every bit of it was real.

"I'm glad," Starkey said, and she could tell that he was, even if his voice remained as flat as the state of Nebraska.

She considered leaning over to rest her head on Starkey's shoulder, but dismissed the notion by turning her attention back to her sandwich. "You know..." she said as she considered the cold cuts and bread, "I don't think that I've ever been this happy before. Like consistently. I'm glad that I met you."

Starkey looked over at her and even though his face never changed, she could see a smile in his eyes. "I'm happy that I met you as well. Having you around makes me feel like I'm always smiling."

Sure enough, a small smile graced the corners of his lips, and Claire felt her heart soar at the sight. After a moment, she said to him, "You know I can count on one hand the number of times I've seen you do that, right?"

"Yup," Starkey said, and they turned to look back out across the picnic area.

There was a crackle of speakers for a moment, and then Ius's voice hollered with a screech of feedback, "Alright everyone! Next round in ten minutes! Pack it in, but not too much. We don't want anyone losing the lunch they just had."

Her voice held an evil snicker in it as she signed off, and Claire looked down at her half-eaten sandwich.

"I don't think I'm hungry anymore," Starkey said as he frowned at the bag of chips he had in his lap.

"Me neither," Claire agreed.

They stood up in unison and fell in step together, and a careful observer would say that they even had the same posture as they walked along towards the next staging area.

Dason and Valentina were already there, and Dason held a can of soda in his hands. Claire didn't need to have x-ray vision to know that the contents of the can were slowly but surely disappearing without anything moving. A large curtain that spanned wide enough to completely hide what was beyond it was strung up across a long clothesline, and Ius stood on a platform with a microphone in hand, presumably awaiting all of the competitors.

"What's the story?" Starkey asked as he stepped up alongside Valentina.

"Something called 'The Dash of Death,'" she replied, "I almost think that Ius is trying too hard with the names of these things."

"Alright, everybody!" Ius called out, "Looks like everyone is here, and none the worse for wear. You all did well in the first two rounds, and we've eliminated a handful of teams already, but we still have a bunch of them in the running!. Next up: The Dash of Death! I hope you all signed your waivers when you arrived."

The curtain dropped, and Claire felt her blood run cold.

The name of the challenge was surprisingly accurate. The Dash of Death was an obstacle course... one that involved spikes, fire, and swinging pendulums with blades attached to them.

Ius looked disappointed. "Kenny," she said into the microphone, "I thought I told you to change it _away_ from the version we used when we hosted the folks from the nursing home."

Claire's mouth hung open for a moment, and she considered turning tail and running away at the mere notion that this was something that had been used on senior citizens, but the flamethrowers turned off, the bladed pendulums stopped swinging, blades were replaced with rubber balls, and spikes were removed.

"Sorry," Kenny said by way of apology.

"The rules are simple, folks," Ius said with a wicked smile, "Everyone will run this course in order to score points for their team. You fall in the water, and you're out. No point for you. The teams that are in the bottom half of the scoreboard will be eliminated. That's it, that's all, end of story."

She could feel the competitive energy in the air at that notion, especially from her own teammates. Valentina was cracking her knuckles. Dason crushed the empty soda can in his hand the same way one would crumple a piece of paper, and Starkey practically vibrated with intensity. 

"Everyone form up in a line and we'll get this ball rolling!" Ius shouted, and everyone dashed towards the starting line, though nobody in particular seemed to be that excited to be first. Claire and Starkey were about halfway back through the line, with Dason and Valentina maybe three people ahead of them. There didn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to team placement throughout the line, but everyone was ready to go, even the first person in line.

"Representing Team Copper, Magnus!" Ius called out, presumably for the sake of whoever was keeping score.

The inkling at the front looked like he could crush someone with his little pinky, and the sleeves of his Varsity Jacket were completely torn off, and he steadied himself before sprinting out. Claire couldn't see what was happening on the obstacle course, but she could hear it.

The best approximation of the sounds that came from the obstacle course (excluding the cheers, groans, and shouts of the crowd) went vaguely as follows: Thump, thump. Whud. Foomp-foomp-foomp. A cry of pain. Wham, splash, then an inkling (presumably Magnus) screaming "Blyad!" in a heavily-accented voice.

Claire looked at Starkey, worry plain on her face, and she found herself relaxing. The fact that Starkey wasn't freaking out about it made her feel a lot more at ease... though she wasn't sure if she would ever see him freak out.

More and more people went through the obstacle course, and as time went on, more people started managed to get across to the other side. Soon enough, Claire was able to see some parts of the course even through the throng ahead of her. A conveyor belt, a trampoline, what appeared to be giant papier-mâché monster heads on pendulums, and a couple of other things that she couldn't quite make out made up the course. Even at this distance, Claire could see that there were a lot of moving parts.

"Up next, for the Bad Squiddos, Dason!"

Ahead in the line, Claire heard Valentina cheering as Dason took off at a dead run. After that, she only caught glimpses of him, and heard the sounds.

Foomp-foomp-foomp-foomp-foomp. Wham. The bouncing noise of a trampoline. Bang. Bang. Whack. A Tarzan yell muffled by a gas mask, then a solid wham.

Splash.

Claire winced. Dason hadn't made it all the way.

But there were still three of them left, and if they all three scored, then it was more likely than not that they would advance to the next round and not get cut from the finals.

Valentina was up next, and she charged forward with a holler that got enough people in line cheering (Claire included) that Claire could barely hear the sounds of the obstacle course itself.

She let out a final yell and there was a solid "thwump" before Valentina let out a shout of "YEAAAAAAH!"

Everyone cheered with her, especially Claire, and Starkey even clenched his fist in front of his chest and gave a quiet, but satisfied, "Yes."

Three more people went, and it was soon Starkey's turn. The closer they got to the front of the line, the more unobstructed Claire's view of the obstacle course became.

The first thing was a group of employees that jumped out at you and tried to push you off the side, immediately followed by a conveyor belt. The conveyor belt was moving back towards the start, and while you tried to run it, more employees launched dodgeballs at you in an attempt to knock you off the admittedly narrow conveyor.

After that was a balance beam with bars that tried to trip you and knock you over, a short jump onto a kiddie trampoline into a ball pit, then a dash across another narrow beam while still more employees tried to throw wrecking-ball-sized monster heads at you and knock you off.

The final hurdle was a rope swing and a jump onto a platform across a pool of water. Based on the damp inklings, looking a little faded, off to one side, it wasn't deep enough to splat you, but it was enough to make you feel terrible about the whole situation.

Claire gulped and watched as Starkey readied himself.

"Up next, for the Bad Squiddos, Starkey!"

Off to the side, where the finished competitors (dry and damp alike) were seated, Valentina cheered loudly for her captain and Dason even thrust both of his fists up in the air in a show of support.

Starkey ran. He hit the conveyor running and kept going as the Triggerfish employees launched one ball after another at him. They stopped when he got to the balance beam, and he kept his knees bent, his center of gravity low as he crossed. He casually stepped over the shin-high sweeps that came at him with a will to trip him up, and jumped down onto the little kiddie trampoline.

Claire had to admit that she giggled a little bit as Starkey flailed about with a completely straight face before faceplanting right into the ball pit.

Now was the hard part, at least it looked hard to Claire. Starkey ran across as the monster heads came swinging down at Starkey, and he paused to avoid them one by one until he got across to the rope swing. He took it and pulled himself up, his arms straining as he launched himself off the platform and towards the next. Claire watched with anticipation as he flew magnificently through the air, like a majestic eagle except without feathers or any real sense of coordination.

He landed and the onlookers cheered even as he gave Claire a thumbs-up. They weren't out of the woods yet, though.

Claire took a deep breath and readied herself even as Ius called out "Next up, for the Bad Squiddos, it's Claire! Let's go!"

Claire set off at a dead sprint. Her legs pumped furiously even as she launched herself onto the moving walkway. The employees began firing off dodgeballs at her with the "foomp, foomp, foomp" that they had earlier, and while she did feel the air move near her face as one shot right in front of her nose, none of them touched her.

The balance beam with the spinning sweeps at just above ankle height came next, and she crouched slightly to keep her center of gravity low, even as she took the first step. Claire cleared it easily, to the cheers and delight of her team.

She dropped down onto the trampoline, and the springs must have been wound a little tight because it launched her up with surprising force, causing her to flail wildly as she launched through the air. She even gave a quiet "eep!" just before she crash-landed right in the ball pit.

That stunned her a little bit, and she let out a long breath to steady herself before she got back to her feet and crouched on the next narrow walkway. She saw the three employees with their giant monster heads made of papier-mâché ready to throw them and started on her sprint. She pulled short as the first monster head sailed by, and she was surprised that she didn't really hear a massive "whoosh" as it went past her. The other two employees got their timing off and missed her by a mile, and she grabbed the rope swing and looked out across the expanse of shallow water, and pushed herself off.

She let out a yell of defiance that probably matched Dason's Tarzan-like yell from earlier on, and she let go when she felt she was at the end of her swing.

She sailed through the air, flailed a bit, and crashed into the side of the platform so hard that it knocked the air out of her. She scrabbled for a grip and found one on the edge of one of the cushions as the crowd collectively gasped, and her teammates began to cheer with excitement.

One pull at a time, Claire began to heave herself up onto the platform and raised one hand in a victorious fist to the sound of cheers, most loudly from Valentina and Dason.

Starkey was running back up to the end of the course to help her to her feet. "Are you alright?" He asked, and Claire nodded with a slight wheeze escaping her lips.

"Yeah. I'm fine. I made it." She looked up at Starkey with a smile, and his eyes shone as if he was returning it.

Starkey got Claire a bottle of water while she sat and caught her breath with Dason and Valentina, watching as most of the rest of the players wiped out (it was closer to half, which boded well for their team).

When the last person had finished (a rather spectacular showing where three dodgeballs hit them at once and forced them off the conveyor belt), Ius stepped out and casually walked on the conveyor with her microphone in hand.

"Alright, folks! Time for the event that you've all been waiting for! The final round! We have five teams advancing to the finals: Dragons Reborn, Bad Squiddos, Hellcats, Something Fishy, and Wrecking Ball." She gave a pause after each team's name so the team and their supporters could give a cheer.

"Are you ready for the final round?!" Ius said, then held out the microphone to the crowd.

Everyone cheered, though Claire asked, "What do they do for the final round?"

"Do you remember when the three of us were trying to hunt you down during one practice?" Starkey asked.

"Yes," Claire replied tentatively. It was not a pleasant memory. It felt more like a survival horror scenario than an ink battle.

"This will be like that."

"I can't hear you!" Ius said. Claire swallowed and let out a croak of a shout as a weak form of assent even as the crowd's voice roared around her.

"It's time for Camp Triggerfish: Battle Royale!" Ius said as she threw her hands up in the air, and even Starkey got in on the cheers, much to Claire's surprise.

She and her team had made it this far, she realized. There was no way that she would lie down and lose now.


	17. Chapter 17

Despite her determination, Claire felt herself blanching at the thought of a Battle Royale.

"Wh..." she started to ask, but was cut off by Ius's shouts.

"Twenty minute break so our finalists can get their gear ready and strategize, then it's time for the event that you've all been waiting for," Ius said, then threw her head back and held the mic up to her mouth like she was a sword swallower, "BATTLE ROYALE!"

Claire gulped. Her stomach felt like it was made of ice, but she knew that was just the feeling that she always got before a match. Next to her, Starkey rested a hand on her shoulder.

She turned to face him, and he nodded at her, calm as a windless sea, and he tilted his head in the general direction of their cabin. Claire followed wordlessly, breathing deeply in order to clear the cold out of her belly.

Valentina and Dason were already in the cabin, double-checking their gear and readying their weapons. Dason had a small phillips-head screwdriver at the ready as he worked on his, tightening a few bits and pieces here and there, while Valentina oiled the trigger on hers.

Claire had done weapon maintenance before; it was taught to you when you first signed up for turf war. She couldn't field-strip and clean her Mini Splatling, but she knew enough to follow a basic flowchart that every mechanical engineer has used at least once in their life:

..........................________Is it moving? (Y/N)__________  
..........................|........................................................|  
..........................|........................................................|  
..........(Y) Is it supposed to? (Y/N).............(N) Is it supposed to? (Y/N)  
...........|.................................|.......................|...............................|  
...........|.................................|.......................|...............................|  
....(Y) Good job!.............(N) Duct Tape....(Y) WD-40.............(N) Good job!

As such, she always kept a spray can of oil and a roll of duct tape in her weapon case, that way she could perform on-the fly repairs quick as a blink and take her splatling to Ammo Knights after the day was done to get it fixed up.

Fortunately, as she gave her weapon a once-over, nothing was out of place. No emergency repairs today. Then again, since she had joined up with Starkey, Valentina, and Dason, she'd been pretty on the ball with her maintenance.

Even so, as she went through the motions and checked the various points on her weapon, Starkey spoke up and started oulining a plan.

"It'll have to be a case of divide and conquer, hide and seek," Starkey said, "If they catch us all at once, that's the end of it."

He tapped the rim of his slosher as it sat on the bed with him, and he frowned slightly, "What do you guys think?"

"Splat them all," Dason said, surprising everyone by speaking first, "Let the respawn sort them out."

Valentina shook her head at the notion and lay her splattershot in her lap. "That wouldn't work. If we go around, making a scene, that'll just draw attention to us and we may wind up having to fight four teams at once." She looked over at Dason and said, "I know you're good, but I also know you're not *that* good."

In response, Dason gave a grunt of grudging agreement.

"What about you, Claire?" Starkey asked, and everyone's gaze settled on her as she ran a wire brush down one of the barrels of her splatling.

Claire didn't start at that. She'd been thinking about a strategy, too, and remained silent for a moment. "It's a Battle Royale, right?" Claire asked, "That means every team for themselves?"

"Yes," Starkey confirmed.

"So we don't have to get the most splats. We just have to get the last one," she said. Valentina was grinning at the prospect.

"I get you! Lay low, don't attack unless attacked, and make sure that we last long enough to clean up," she said, practically vibrating with excitement. She looked ready to bolt for the door and get involved in the most dangerous game of hide-and-seek that any of them were likely to face.

Dason looked over at Starkey, who had an expression on his face that somehow managed to look both neutral and thoughtful at the same time.

"What's on your mind, Cap?" Dason asked through his gas mask.

"We're usually on offense," Starkey said.

"And?" Valentina asked.

"This is something that I've been thinking about a lot recently," Starkey said, "We don't have a lot of experience being on the defensive, so I don't know how we should handle this," Starkey explained.

"We could always play it the way we usually do," Valentina offered, "Keep to our usual roles, and look for stragglers."

"No," Dason said, "There are too many people. I don't think we'd be able to play our usual game."

"Besides," Starkey added, "It's single elimination, probably. One of us goes down, it's not like we can super-jump right back into the fray."

That made the team consider for a moment before Claire spoke up, "I can be our anchor, then," she said.

Everyone turned to stare at Claire for a moment, though there was that curious and interested light that shone in Starkey's eyes whenever he started getting serious about Turf War.

"A lot of the training that you've been having me do has been evasion, so I can avoid people really easily and, if I'm lucky, get two groups to fight one another," Claire said. "I think I can do it."

She knew that her face was determined, and it appeared that the rest of her team agreed with her, because they all began to nod one by one.

"Yeah, I can get behind that," Valentina said, "You're always a little bit of a slippery fish during practice, so I think you'll be able to avoid these guys like they're nothing."

Dason gave a grunt of assent before he said, "Maybe you can lead them into a trap, hm?"

Claire looked at Starkey and felt her face heating up before he, too, nodded and said, "I believe in you."

On cue, Ius's voice rang out through the speakers as she said, "Five minutes! Five minutes to the Battle Royale!"

All at once, Claire and her team stood up and hooked their ink tanks to their weapons before they walked out with their weapons and gear at the ready. Two of the other teams were assembled at the staging area, and Ius stood up on a platform, entertaining the crowd with some highlights from the day, most specifically during Sinkers and Floaters and the Dash of Death.

For some reason, people liked to laugh at people getting hurt in humiliating ways, especially the people that had gotten hurt themselves.

The Bad Squiddos approached the large projection screen just as a replay of that first player from Dash of Death -Magnus, if Claire remembered correctly- started to play. When he had gotten to the pendulum-swinging monster heads, he had dodged one, but caught it coming back. The hit had knocked him off the walkway, causing the exclaimation of "Blyad" that Claire had heard while she was still waiting in line.

People cheered, groaned, and the inkling that had been on the recieving end of that ass-whipping burst out in raucous laughter that was loud enough to make Claire feel a little uncomfortable and intimidated.

She swallowed as she saw a couple of other teams already waiting with their weapons and gear at the ready, and she felt a little weak in the knees at the sight of how much more... organized? Professional? She didn't know the right word for it, but they looked ready to kick ass and take names, especially considering that each team had something that matched on each of them.

The Dragons Reborn wore patches on their left breast that showed a winged lizard rising up from the horizon. Wrecking Ball each wore the Varsity Jacket, but had their namesake emblazoned across the back. Neither Hellcats nor Something Fishy had shown up, yet, so Claire was at least able to breathe easy about them being neither early nor late.

"Listen as we pass them," Starkey said quietly. "You'll see that they're not as scary as they look."

Sometimes, she wondered if Starkey could read her mind, or if he was actually just that in-tune with her emotions.

If the latter was the case, that would be kind of unfair because she still had a hard time reading him at first glance.

Even so, Claire remained calm as her team walked past the other two.

Without needing to listen too hard, she heard the other teams bickering.

"No, we should split up."

"Stay together."

"Run and gun, boys, run and gun."

"We need to set up an ambush zone."

"I think we should go hunting."

"Keep them on their toes."

"Stay hidden."

Claire had to suppress a smile. Sure, they looked like they were in sync, but her team was at least able to agree on a plan. It didn't matter how good you looked as long as you were able to work together efficiently.

"I think we have a chance," Claire said as they got out of earshot of the other two teams. Then again, she didn't know if they would have even bothered to listen to her if she had spoken where they were more likely to hear.

"Told you," Starkey said, and she didn't have to look to tell that there was something smug in his eyes.

Hellcats and Something Fishy arrived together, and it appeared that a lot of the teammates knew each other, but not in the "hateful rivalry" kind of way. Several were swapping jokes, and a pair of squids on opposite teams looked like they might even be twins.

"Alright, everyone!" Ius called out, and her voice was enough to silence the chattering crowd. "Our teams have assembled, and we are Ready! To! Rumble!!!"

Everyone in the audience cheered, but Claire felt her hackles rise as the tension began to increase in the air.

"The rules of the game are simple," Ius continued, "No specials, inking turf doesn't count, point sensors target you for all enemies to see, and if you're splatted?"

She drew her thumb across her throat in a menacing gesture, "You're done. End of story, don't pass go, don't collect two hundred coins."

Claire swallowed, and a lot of the tension went with her. The Bad Squiddos knew what they were doing, at least, and they looked like they were keeping the most calm out of all five teams that had gathered.

"Hellcats, Bad Squiddos, Dragons Reborn, Wrecking Ball, and Something Fishy? ARE! YOU! READY?!" Ius said with all of the enthusiasm of a latino soccer announcer declaring that a team had just scored a goal.

Each of the four members of the five teams gave a shout of assent, signalling that they were ready to go.

"Let's get this party started!" Ius called, then pointed over to a control room just offstage. "Kenny!"

Five different-colored super jump pads appeared, and the Bad Squiddos darted towards the nearest one: a deep magenta color.

They dove in and were launched, one by one, onto the splatterfield.

"Keep your heads down and eyes open," Starkey called in a tone that brooked no argument. He was using his Captain's voice, and with it came the cool serenity of a seasoned commander. "Claire, break off and stay below the radar. If you see a shot, take it, but reposition afterwards. Dason, Vale, let's run interference and see if we can catch a straggler or two."

Everyone gave agreement and Claire ducked into the ink for a moment so she could check the map.

It looked like a big donut, divided into five sections of color, and certain groups were already encroaching on others' territory, if the change in the color of the ink was any indicator. Furthermore, there were a lot of spires and structures that players could use to gain a height advantage... which would especially be useful for an enemy charger.

However, it worked better in Claire's favor than she initially thought. A high vantage point would let her see any movement, allowing her to track and possibly ambush an enemy or two. Furthermore, seekers wouldn't be able to get her as easily up on one of the spires.  
Furthermore, her HUD allowed her to see the scores. So far, only three people had been splatted, which brought Hellcats down to three players and Wrecking Ball down to two.

From the looks of things, Dason was scouting for their team, and looked like he was going to run straight into the entirety of Something Fishy.

They didn't stand a chance.

Dason caught them by surprise instead of the other way around (mainly because he knew how to check his corners), and splatted a pair with two short, three-round bursts before he fell back and led them straight into Dason and Valentina's fire.

"And Something Fishy is the first team eliminated from a brilliant three-on-four play from the Bad Squiddos!" Ius called out through the speakers. Even as she made the announcement, Something Fishy dropped off the board, leaving only four teams to duke it out.

That soon changed to three as Dragons Reborn and Wrecking Ball got in a short altercation that left Dragons Reborn a squid short and Wrecking Ball completely wiped out.

"That's what you get for using a Varsity Jacket with a Tri-Slosher," she thought, though she could tell that it was Starkey's voice in her head that was saying it.

However, she soon had to move quick because the three remaining members of Hellcats were coming her way, and a lobbed point sensor caught her in its blast radius. She let out a yelp and began to flee towards her team, right past two of the members of Dragons Reborn (the third had apparently gone off hunting), and there were sounds of combat behind her as Hellcats chewed through their unaware enemies.

"Claire!" Valentina called out as she started to fire past her teammate, "Get out of the way!"

Claire did, but immediately wished she hadn't. A burst bomb soared right through where she had been and splattered all over Valentina's feet just before a second one hit Valentina square in the chest to splat her.

She heard Dason growling as he fired off quick bursts at the Hellcats and ducked behind cover even as Claire started to spin up her splatling.

"I've got your back," Starkey said from behind her, and Claire nodded grimly. The three Hellcats swam into view and Claire responded by lobbing a suction bomb first and opening fire second.

That's not to say that they didn't do some damage in return. Even though Dason managed to get two of them from behind and Claire's suction bomb stopped their escape, their fire managed to splat Starkey and Claire even as the last one went down, leaving only Dason and the last member of Dragons Reborn on the splatterfield.

"Alright, everyone!" Ius called out as the five defeated inklings respawned back at the bleachers near the jumbotron that jumped back and forth between Dason and a Splatterscope that was perched up high on a spire. "We're down to our last two combatants, so... we don't need all this space."

Red lights began to flash for both Dason and the Splatterscope, and they immediately began moving until they were both in an area that appeared to have no angry flashing red lights at all... an area that was mostly wide open space, but was relatively small. It was a matter of whether Dason could close the gap or the Splatterscope could get a decent enough shot off, first.

Claire's hand found Starkey's, and she watched in anticipation as her knuckles turned white against his.

Immediately, Dason broke left, and Claire counted the second and a half that it took for the Splatterscope to charge before the shot went out with a painfully familiar crack. It was lighter, almost hollower than that fateful E-Liter those couple of months ago, but she knew that if Dason got hit, it was game over.

Dason juked backwards, the ink barely missing him as he shifted back to his squid form and started in at an angle towards the Splatterscope, and rose up out of the ink to fire a couple of shots at his opponent before another shot cracked out and grazed him enough to send him staggering. Fortunately, a couple of Dason's shots managed to catch his opponent, though not enough to splat them.

The collective breath of the crowd hitched as both dove back into their respective ink, but it was Dason's turn to go on the full offensive, now.

He didn't have a strong inking weapon, but sometimes you just needed to shoot the right patch of turf in order to cut off an escape route or catch an enemy by surprise.

Dason cut the opposing player off, and followed it up with a couple of shots that blocked their escape before he started to fire almost haphazardly down the middle.

It worked. One, two, three shots caught the off-balance Splatterscope, and they were splatted, causing a klaxon to ring out and signal Dason's victory.

"And winning it in one-on-one for the Bad Squiddos: Dason! The Bad Squiddos are this week's Camp Triggerfish Champions!"

Claire, Valentina, and Starkey all shot up with different expressions of satisfaction. Starkey clutched a fist in front of himself and gave a very emphatic "yes." Valentina was cheering, grabbing onto the person next to her and hugging them tightly even though they were on a completely different team. Claire threw her hands up in the air and let out an excited "Booyah!" for her friend and teammate before she flung herself at Starkey in a massive hug and he returned it just as tight.

The rest of the day went by in an ecstatic blur. In a short and sweet ceremony, Ius crowned the Bad Squiddos the Camp Triggerfish Champions of the Week (with literal crowns, though they were only plastic). Claire, Valentina, and Starkey had all piled their crowns on top of Dason's, meaning that he was walking around with four of the things perched precariously on top of his head.

They had a final banquet for dinner with grilled vegetables, roast meat, mashed potatoes, grilled cheese sandwiches, and tomato soup to the replay of the highlights of the day. Not just painful wipeouts, but also crowning moments of awesome from a lot of the players. Claire didn't remember a lot of it until she and her team were on the train home. All she remembered was a feeling of happiness that was so profound that she couldn't describe it as anything other than "perfect."

"Claire," Starkey said on the train back to her house (Valentina and Dason had gotten off earlier for a connection), "You were really awesome today."

Claire's cheeks flushed and she looked down at her toes with a muttered, "Thanks." Even though the two of them were an item, she couldn't really wrap her head around the concept, mainly on account of the fact that she didn't know how to behave in a relationship, especially one with someone so stoic.

"You've learned a lot since we first met. We probably wouldn't have gotten through Sinkers and Floaters if it weren't for the fact that you had kept a level head," Starkey said before he paused.

The pause ended when he leaned over and placed a soft kiss on her cheek. Claire's face darkened and she turned to kiss his cheek again, though their lips wound up meeting halfway.

The kiss seemed to last until she heard the call for her stop, and she broke it sheepishly. "I'm sorry. I have to go," Claire said as she stood up even as the train started to slow down.

Starkey's eyes twinkled with happiness and affection as he looked up at her. "I'll see you at practice on Monday."

"See you Monday," she agreed. As long as there was still practice, she could feel okay.

She walked into the house wearing the plastic crown with the Camp Triggerfish emblem on it, and her mother practically squeed when she saw it sitting on Claire's head.

"Oh my goodness! I'm so proud of you! Your father never got to be Champion of the Week," she said, giving her husband a smirk as he stood up and made his way over to hug his daughter.

"Only because you were always on the team that won," Michael said with a sigh.

"Guess the girls of the family really are better," Charity teased, and Claire found herself laughing too.

The three of them shared a hug, and when it broke, Claire removed her crown and set her bags down even as her dad went over to the refrigerator and took off an envelope. "By the way," Michael said, "This came by for you. Dropped off by a very nice boy."

"I'm pretty sure she was a girl, Michael," Charity replied.

"Either way," Michael said, "Whoever it was, they left this for you."

Claire took it and stared at her name written on the front of the letter in a hand that seemed so graceful and flowing that it looked out of place on the business letter envelope and would have looked more at home on an invitation to a royal ball.

She opened it without tearing the envelope too much, and unfolded the simple piece of white paper inside.

The note on the paper was in that same flowing script, and Claire felt a cold pit form in her stomach, dense and icy, it threatened to consume everything inside her.

"We need to talk about Starkey. Come tomorrow night, midnight, to Port Mackerel. Come alone."

All of the happiness that she had in her body was consumed, sucked into that black hole of despair in her stomach.

She didn't know who it was that sent the letter, or what they wanted to talk about it, but every red flag that she had was flapping in the wind.

First things first, she had to let her team know.

Something about this was not right.


	18. Chapter 18

_[Username: Claire has started a group chat]_  
 **Claire** : Hey, guys? Um... I got a letter that I think you all need to see...  
 **Claire** : I'm scared and I don't know what else to do...  
 _[Username: Dason has joined the chat]_  
 _[Username: Valentina has joined the chat]_  
 **Valentina** : =? wut's cookin ur noodle, claire??  
 **Dason** : I was just headed to bed, but what's up?  
 _[Username: Starkey has joined the chat]_  
 **Starkey** : Tell us what troubles you. Respite can wait for a few moments.  
 **Valentina** : tru!! not like we have prakkie 2morro neway  
 **Dason** : "Prakkie?"  
 **Valentina** : stfu!  
 **Claire** : _[has sent an image]_

She held her breath as she stared back and forth between the letter on her nightstand and the glow of the screen in the darkness of her room. She had waited until her parents had gone to bed, and had kept her lights out as well. Even though her body ached for the sweet release of sleep, she couldn't get her mind to calm down enough to make it happen. She was just too scared.

Her phone vibrated.

 **Valentina** : >=O wtf is this!!!  
 **Valentina** : how tf can some1 write a threatening message like its a fancy invite???  
 **Dason** : I don't like this.  
 **Valentina** : srsly!!!  
 **Valentina** : u make it big n ur gonna have a crazy fan from time 2 time  
 **Claire** : They um... they delivered it to my house, guys...  
 **Dason** : Excuse me?  
 **Valentina** : r u fuckin shittin me?!?!?!  
 **Claire** : They handed it to my mom, they know where I live.   
**Claire** : I'm scared...  
 **Dason** : Cap?  
 **Starkey** : Yes?  
 **Dason** : Thoughts?  
 **Starkey** : Cafe Cardamari. Nine AM tomorrow. We'll talk it out, come up with a plan of attack.  
 **Claire** : Starkey, are you okay?  
 **Starkey** : All shall be well. We'll talk it out. Get some sleep.

_[Username: Starkey has left the chat]_

**Valentina** : sleep well claire  
 **Valentina** : the cap'n told us about ur folks  
 **Valentina** : u dont have 2 worry abt anythin 2nite <3

_[Username: Valentina has left the chat]_

**Dason** : Sleep well, Claire.  
 **Dason** : I know that sounds like it would be hard, but   
**Dason** : We will take care of this tomorrow

_[Username: Dason has left the chat]_

Something was amiss. She stared at the chat, especially at Starkey's messages. They were the sort of thing that he would say, but they seemed too... curt. She didn't know how to take it, and was worried that the steady monolith that was her captain was beginning to show a crack, and not a good one at that.

Claire plugged in her phone, put it down, and closed her eyes. Sleep was slow in coming, but it came, and her dreams were none too pleasant either. Many of them consisted of her being chased by someone that knew exactly how she moved. She could not explain it in the dream, but Claire knew that her pursuer *hated* her.

She woke and stared at her ceiling. One would think that since she had been running her tentacles off the entire previous day and engaging in strenuous activity that made Turf War seem like a pleasant jog, she'd have slept longer.

But Claire didn't want to sleep longer. The almost pink light of a cloudy dawn peeked through her blinds, and she got up to rub the sand from her eyes. She stretched when she got out of bed and took a quick shower. If her parents were awake, they were either still in bed, or had already left for work. Based off the lack of coffee smell from the kitchen, she was willing to bet that they were still asleep.

Claire got dressed and made her way towards the door. Hesitantly, her hand hovered over the note that had been so casually delivered to her house the previous day, and she bit her lip before she stuffed it into her pocket. The clock on her phone read seven fifteen, and it didn't take nearly that long to get to Inkopolis Square, but Claire still wanted to stretch her legs and think for a bit.

She got on the early train, and the scents of predawn dew were replaced with the smell of wet iron and oil as she coasted along through the subway.

Claire stared at her phone. Her fingers flickered and she sent out a quick text, despite her lack of surety.

 **Claire** : Hey, um... are you awake yet?

She sat there for a moment, expecting a reply almost immediately, and was about to put her phone back in her pocket when it buzzed and almost startled her out of her chair.

 **Starkey** : I am risen. What troubles you?

He typed in such a different way than he spoke. The way that he was writing, it almost seemed like he'd be a hero out of a story that took place in a world with kings, queens, dragons, dwarves, horses, fortresses, magic, and swords.

In a way, it made him seem like some sort of Prince Charming (not that she needed Starkey to be more of one than he already was, of course) but in other ways, it was a little offputting, considering what she already knew about him.

She shook her head to clear the cobwebs still clinging to her brain. There were more important things to talk about right now. The way that he had responded yesterday, especially after that silence, made her think that something was amiss.

 **Claire** : What, um...  
 **Claire** : What do you know about this note?

The phone remained silent for a while. Claire started to think that the silence was speaking more than the text would have, and she started to put it back in her pocket again.

The second that it left her hand, it buzzed again.

"How does he keep doing that," Claire muttered with a mote of indignation, and she stared at the text just as the PA system on the train said, "Inkopolis Plaza."

 **Starkey** : As I explained last night: we will meet and discuss how we are to proceed.

Claire frowned and typed out another message just as the train started to come to a stop, and she stood up to leave as she sent it.

 **Claire** : How much do you uh... actually know?

The response was immediate, unlike the ones that came before.

 **Starkey** : More than I'd like to admit and a lot more than I can tell you right now. We'll talk at the Cafe.

Another message came just afterwards.

 **Starkey** : I'm sorry.

That made Claire pause halfway up the flight of stairs out of the subway. _He_ was sorry? That was a little more than she expected. Well, a lot more than she expected. She had expected him to be evasive about the situation (which he had been doing a splendid job of before), but she hadn't expected him to apologize for it.

Which told Claire two things: He really did know a lot more than he was letting on, and that he wanted to tell her but couldn't for some reason.

Claire found that she was grinding her beak and stopped. She hadn't done that before, not that she could remember, and the implications, at least to her, were a little bit concerning. First and foremost, she was frustrated. Secondly, she appeared to be frustrated at Starkey.

Then again, why shouldn't she? He was hiding stuff from her, and hiding things from her in a situation that had left her feeling scared, uneasy, and gave her nightmares last night.

She frowned down at her phone and made her way into Inkopolis Plaza. It wasn't quite dead; there were a few stragglers wandering around outside the early morning breakfast and coffee places, and a few more that were waiting the last fifteen minutes before the shops opened at nine.

Had it been an hour already? Either she was waiting at the train longer than she thought, or she was walking slower than she thought. Then again, she really didn't want to think about what the note could mean, or what could come of the conversation about it, so it might have been her subconscious trying to stop her from going to the cafe.

Cafe Cardamari was one of those places that was popular because certain people made it popular. It was a place for pros to hang out, and a couple of celebrities in music could be spotted there on almost a daily basis. Because of this, it became kind of standard practice for the staff of the cafe to put up a sign that said only "No Autographs, No Pictures, just leave everyone alone" because fans were starting to ruin people's meals.

Starkey already waited in a booth. It was one of those booths shaped like the letter C with a slightly-more-than-half-moon table in front of it. He sat on one of the edges towards the aisle as the wait staff bustled about with cups of coffee and plates of breakfast food (and a couple of lunchtime meals as well). He had taken his hat off and put it on the vinyl seat next to him, and nodded at Claire as she approached.

"Hey, Starkey," Claire said timidly, not really knowing how to be aggressive in this kind of situation.

However, there was a part of her brain that said "fuck it" and asked the question outright.

"What's going on?" she blurted, though the volume in her voice was tempered by the environmental static of the cafe.

Starkey stared at her for a moment, unreadable as an alien alphabet, then shook his head. "Not yet. Wait until the others get here."

Claire sat down. Starkey had his glass of cranberry juice in front of him, and a waitress, wearing a pair of black slacks, a crisp white blouse, and a nametag that read "Fred" paused to take Claire's order of espresso.

Claire and Starkey just stared at each other throughout the entire time that they waited for "Fred" (if that was actually the inkling's name) to come back with her coffee.

"Fred" came back just as Dason and Valentina walked through the door of the quickly-crowding cafe. They were a couple of minutes late, and those few minutes had made all the difference. It seemed that at nine in the morning, the whole city woke up and started to go about its business, so they were fighting their way through a crowd of people that were looking for their caffiene fix just before a turf war or five.

"Thank you, uh..." Claire said, barely audible over the din ofthe Cafe. She glanced at "Fred," then at their nametag, then back to "Fred."

"Fred is correct," the server said with a smile, "Short for 'Winnifred.' Is there anything else I can get you?"

"Hold on!" Valentina said as she pushed past the last person before their booth. She let out a heaving breath and said, "Before you run off, a tropical berry smoothie for me, please. And Dason?"

Dason practically morphed in out of Claire's periph and held up a hand. "Mango juice and a danish."

Starkey was already in the process of standing up as Fred said, "Sure thing," jotted down the order on her notepad, then wove her way through the crowd like a ballerina through a mosh pit.

Dason and Valentina sat down, and a much more somber air came over the table, to the point where the sounds of the cafe were muted, distant buzzing that nobody really needed to pay any mind.

"So," Valentina said, her voice barely audbile, "Do you still have the note?"

Claire wordlessly fished it out of her pocket and put it on the table. She slid it to the center, and Dason reached out for it first. She wasn't surprised when he unfolded it and held it up so Valentina could read it, too. If those two were any closer, she'd be pretty sure that they were dating.

Dason rubbed the note between thumb and forefinger and said, "Good paper."

"And the handwriting is really pretty, too," Valentina said. "Whoever sent you this threat sure knows how to make a threat classy, Claire."

"Stop admiring the monster," Starkey said, and there was an edge to his voice that sent chills down the spines of the whole table.

"Isn't... calling them that going a little too far?" Claire asked as Fred came back with the three orders and set them down in front of the appropriate parties. Claire curled her hands around the small mug, absorbing as much of the heat with her hands as she could. It wasn't like it was a particularly cool morning, but it was still nice to have something comforting in your hands.

"No," Starkey said, and his voice was firm, even if the edge had gone from it, "Someone's threatening a member of my team, a friend, and... my girlfriend..." He trailed off, and had to tear his eyes away from Claire's.

This was probably the first time that he'd ever called her that, and it felt like her heart was wrapped around a warm cup of coffee when he did.

Starkey cleared his throat, and his cheeks were slightly dusted with the almost mint-green color of his tentacles, even if his face remained completely impassive.

"They don't get to get away with this, and I'm not going to let them," Starkey said, and the stain on the left side of his face changed.

His stain turned from an electric blue to almost the exact same mint-green as his tentacles, and Claire had to resist the urge to look around. On top of everything else, the person that had tried to shoot Claire and had left that stain on Starkey's face was nearby enough to almost match the color of his ink exactly. Claire tried not to think about this, but couldn't help it. It seemed incredibly unlikely that the two were linked, but if they were...

Suddenly, Starkey's decision to choose the perpetually noisy and busy Cafe Cardamari made sense: If they were being watched or followed, it would behoove them to be in a public place where they couldn't be spied on.

Starkey's stain changed to a lemony yellow color, and Valentina spoke up. "So what are we going to do, Captain?"

"Claire's going to go to the meeting place," Starkey said, "But she's not going to be alone."

Claire swallowed and glanced between her teammates, "Are... are you sure that's a good idea?" she asked.

"It's a terrible idea," Starkey admitted, "But it's the best one we have. If you don't go, they'll probably see it as an insult, and you might wind up getting dead seagulls left on your doorstep."

Claire was glad that she didn't have any food in front of her, because that simple image would have likely killed her appetite.

As if he didn't notice how the color had drained from Claire's face, Starkey continued. "And if we go in a group, then we might spook them and cause further trouble for you," he said, tapping one finger on the table and staring at the note. "So you'll have to go, but make it seem like you're alone. We'll be there, and at least two of us will be armed."

Claire nodded and swallowed, the fear apparent on her face.

"Good," Starkey said as he leaned back and folded his arms. He reached into his pocket for his phone and sent a message to the group.

Claire waited until Valentina checked her phone, then waited a little longer while she thought Dason would check his. Apparently she was wrong. Somehow, she got the feeling he knew what was in the message anyways.

Finally, Claire pulled out her phone and checked it.

 **Starkey** : You may call it paranoia if you wish, but I have the sneaking suspicion that we are being watched.  
 **Starkey** : Follow my lead and all will be well.

"I'm sorry, Claire," Starkey said, his voice without tone. "We can't help you."

"What?!" Valentina said, and from the expression on her face, Claire didn't know if she understood what was going on. Claire got the message quickly and started to speak up, but Dason beat her to the punch.

"He said we can't help her. So we can't."

"The hell we can't!" Valentina said, clearly not getting the message, "You're just going to let her deal with this by herself?!"

"Yes," Starkey said, and his voice was as cold and unyielding as an iceberg moving towards an appropriately-named large ship.

"I can't believe you," Claire said, and she felt the quaver in her voice even though she knew that he was acting. Valentina looked from Starkey to Claire and back again as Claire looked up with tears in her eyes. "You're just leaving me to do this alone?" She might have been method acting a little bit. Her mind was going through a mess of scenarios where Starkey hadn't given her any reassurance and just dropped this bomb right in her lap, and how she wouldn't be able to if he was serious or not.

"It's the way it has to be," Starkey said, and his eyes tore away from Claire's to look at the cranberry juice in front of him. "I'm sorry."

Claire stared for a moment, her whole body shaking in fear and excitement even though she forced herself to wear a frown on her face. She grabbed her espresso and downed the remainder of it in one go before she left a stack of coins on the table and left in a huff.

Internally, she thought that went pretty well. By making a scene, they'd possibly thrown her stalker off their trail.

Again, she thought about how the stain had changed colors to almost the exact same shade as Starkey's ink, and the implications of that, and she shivered as she went back to the train station. Her pace was brisk, and she was home long before lunchtime.

Charity was at work, and Michael apparently had the day off, and was currently in the process of burning a pot of water on the stove. "Claire!" he said chipperly, "I was surprised to see you out and about so early. I thought you didn't have practice today?"

"No, we don't," Claire admitted. "I just... I wanted to go for a walk, see how I felt. I'm still kind of tired. I think I'm going to head back to bed."

"Sure thing," Michael said as he abandoned the pot and placed a tender kiss on Claire's forehead. "Camp Triggerfish will take it out of you. I slept for the whole day after my first trip. If you need the sleep, get it, okay? But try not to miss dinner?"

"I'll do what I can, Dad," Claire said in genuine gratefulness. She didn't like hiding things from him, but he would likely blow a gasket and retrieve his old turf war gear if she told him about the note.

She didn't want to stress out her family any more than she already had these past couple of months, so she went back to bed, only pausing to kick off her shoes and plug in her phone.

She slept, and she did not dream. Whether it was the cup of espresso she'd had, or the fact that she actually felt a little more at ease than she had earlier, she did not know, but it was a welcome relief, and she didn't even realize how long she had slept until she saw the last vestiges of dusk streaming through her window. Claire sat up and kicked off the covers, letting out a yawn that stretched her entire body, and ran her hand through her tentacles in order to smooth them out somewhat.

She checked her phone.

Six forty-five.

Between the meeting at Cafe Cardamari and the trip back, that had all taken about an hour, maybe an hour fifteen. She had been conked out for the better part of seven hours.

Her dad wasn't kidding about Camp Triggerfish taking it out of you. Wow.

She put her shoes back on and stepped out into the hallway, where the smells of good cooking from the kitchen (Charity must be home, then) wafted. From the smell of it, a mild curry awaited her for dinner.

"Claire!" Charity greeted her with a smile, much in the same way her father had. Perhaps all those years of marriage had really made sure that they were picking up each other's mannerisms. "Just in time for dinner. Would you mind setting the table?"

Claire obliged her mom, and soon found herself sitting at the table with a tall glass of water and a bowl of curry rice right in front of her. Claire wasn't as much of a fan of spicy food as her father was, but that was like saying that you weren't as much of a fan of alcohol as Ernest Hemingway. She did like how curry seemed to energize her, though, and realized that was something that she could probably use during the course of the night.

Her mom talked about her day, and her dad listened intently. Claire listened a bit, too, or at least nodded and gave sounds of affirmatives at the appropriate places to make it seem like she was listening. Her mind was on other things.

Claire and her dad tag-teamed the dishes and they went their separate ways after everything was dried and put away. However, before Claire could duck into her room with the excuse of "I have to work on a plush," her mom stopped her.

"I have to work on a plush," Claire blurted, clearly not prepared enough for this eventuality.

"I know," Charity said as she hugged her daughter. "I just noticed that you have something on your mind. I hope that it gets cleared up soon."

Claire froze for a moment, then eased into the hug, rubbing her mom's back and letting out a long sigh. Before she let go, she asked, "Wait... how did you know?"

"Oh, Claire," Charity said with more than a little bit of mischief in her voice, "There's nothing that you can do that your father and I haven't either gotten away with or gotten caught doing."

The implications of that would haunt Claire's dreams for years.

"I'm going to work on my plush, now," Claire said as she extricated herself from her mother's hug and ducked away into the room, a quiet chuckle escaping Charity's lips as she did so.

She reentered her room to see her phone blinking with the "new message" light, and checked it to find a quick one from Starkey.

 **Starkey** : We discussed strategies at Sheldon's after you left, for the sake of privacy. We'll be present, we'll have your back, and we'll remain ever vigilant so we'll be able to provide cover at the meeting place. We will see you tonight, even if you might not see us.

Claire smiled at that, even though it was a hollow one. The fact that she had people looking out for her no matter what made her happy, but the situation itself was worrisome.

She lost herself in her sewing, putting together what was the beginnings of a rather oversized lobster plush, to the point where some might call it not even "oversized" but rather "giant." She had just finished making one of the claws when her phone beeped an alarm, indicating that she had an hour to get to Port Mackerel.

Luckily, it wasn't that long of a train ride, and the train was mostly empty. Her phone beeped again, and she looked at it to see a message from Starkey overlooking the port at an angle that indicated he was up on high.

 **Starkey** : We have assumed our positions. Stay in the light, stay visible, and wait on one of the wharves. If you make them come to you, then we will be able to follow up more efficiently. Going radio silent for now. I would advise you do the same.

Claire followed his advice and turned off the phone, letting out a long exhale that seemed to last until the train's PA system said "Port Mackerel. Approaching Port Mackerel."

She stood even before the train stopped and got off onto a street that was especially unbusy for this time of night.

The port loomed off in the distance, and she walked along the sidewalk until she got close to one of the fences that blocked off the pathway. Quick as a blink, she shifted to her squid form and passed through to the other side of the fence with a quiet "glorp."

Why people thought that chain-link fences were still a form of security when the majority of the population could all but walk through them, she didn't know.

She removed a penlight from her pocket and turned it on, a small pool of yellow light illuminating the path in front of her as she hurried along. It was fifteen minutes until the meet time, and she had to pick a spot along the coast that would give her the widest range of vision.

She settled for an empty dock, several of the wooden mooring posts smelling of oil and salt, occasionally a barnacle or three, and she walked down to where one of the streetlamps illuminated one such post before she sat down on it. She kept the penlight in hand as if it would help her in a life-or-death situation and internally berated herself for how ridiculous this whole situation was.

"Why am I out here, middle of nowhere, completely by myself and just... sitting here. Like a freaking dead slug," she said, though sheknew full well that she was only saying such things in an attempt to make herself feel better about the whole thing.

She started to shake her head and stand up so she could at least walk around, but as she came to her feet, the clock tower about a quarter mile down the array of docks began to ring out with twelve chimes.

Midnight.

"I'm surprised you came," said a voice that seemed to have "derisively teasing" as its default tone. The tone was definitely female, even though the shadowy figure that was only barely visible in the darkness halfway down the dock appeared androgynous in nature.

"You wanted to talk," Claire said, trying to sound tough and failing miserably, "So let's talk."

"You sound like a terrified trout," the voice said, and the figure started to move closer, skirting the edges of the street lamp's light so Claire never saw more than a pant leg or the back of the speaker's hand. "Stop trying to sound tough and just let yourself be scared."

Claire swallowed. She was scared, and she knew that this person was dangerous no matter how nonchalant they sounded.

"You see, I've been watching you for some time, Claire," the voice said, and she made Claire's name sound like a curse. "I've seen you, I know you, and I do not like you."

Claire began to shake, and she had to tighten her jaw to keep it from hanging open. She couldn't say anything. She could just stand there in terrified silence as there was no hand, but instead the glint of light along the barrel of an E-liter.

Claire's ink ran cold. Somehow, she knew that this person wanted her dead. There was no cutting corners, no passing go, no talking her way out of it.

"I _despise_ you," the voice said as she stopped just short of another pool of light. Claire could see her silhouette holding the charger and the vague outline of an ink tank. The voice dripped with ice-cold venom that was so virulent that it could have burned a hole through steel. "I hate you, Claire. And I am going to cut you out of his life."

"What did I ever do to you?!" Claire said, and she was ashamed of herself for letting her voice crack. "I don't even know who you are!"

"You don't need to," the figure said as they began to raise the E-liter and point the barrel straight at Claire. "You just need to die."

Claire contemplated running, but she had backed herself up against the edge of the dock despite herself, and any step she took would either ensure that she got shot or fell in the water.

She was dead.

She was going to die.

"Stop," came a voice. It was neutral, but used to giving commands, and this one was as absolute as God saying "Let there be Light."

"Starkey!" Claire said, and she could practically feel the tears streaming down her face already. He had to be here. It was real. He promised he would be, and he was. She wanted to run to him, but she didn't want to get shot or get him shot.

Starkey stepped into the pool of light a few paces behind the figure, slosher in hands and ready to lay a bucket beatdown on them if they tried any funny business. "Show yourself."

The figure's tentacles changed, the ink inside turning from an almost black to a luminescent green. In the light of the tentacles, Claire could see a jawline that made razors look dull, eyes that could pierce stone. The light didn't go much further down than her collarbone because the tentacles stopped at just shy of her shoulders.

And when she smiled, Claire knew that she had seen that face before. That same sharp smile that she had seen in the photo on Starkey's nightstand.

She looked past the figure to Starkey and felt herself grow queasy.

The stain on the edge of his left eye was glowing the same luminescent green, painting half of his face with an eerie light.

"Hello, lover," the inkling crooned, still keeping the charger pointed right at Claire's chest. "It's been a while."

Starkey's voice did not change. His face did not change. But behind his eyes there burned something that could have destroyed anything in the fires of its anger.

"It has," he said, his voice deceptively calm, "Oakley."


	19. Chapter 19

Claire stared for a moment as the other inkling -Oakley, apparently- let the barrel of her E-Liter dip slightly and she turned her head to smile at Starkey while still keeping the weapon pointed at Claire.

Then something hit her... well, figuratively, of course. The only thing that was likely to hit Claire literally in this moment was a lance of overcharged ink that would very likely kill her or leave her permanently maimed.

"Wait. Lover?!" Claire said in exasperated disbelief.

"Claire, now is not the time," Starkey said, his voice seemingly more measured than before.

"Oh, but it is," Oakley said as she straightened up and turned to face Starkey a little more fully. Claire could still see how Oakley's lips pulled back over her beak in an expression that appeared equal parts sadistic glee and doting admiration. Then, without any further explanation, Oakley's expression changed.

Any vestiges of a smile slid off her face and were replaced with that same kind of indifference that Starkey always seemed to wear. However, because of the natural set of Oakley's face, her "neutral" made her seem like she was frowning.

"You didn't tell her, did you?" Oakley said, her voice almost as impassive as Starkey's.

"Why would I," Starkey said. It wasn't a question. It was a demand.

"I would have told someone about you if there had been anyone other than you," Oakley told him, and she lowered the barrel of the weapon. Her thumb released the primer switch, but she didn't put it away. Claire had the distinct feeling that Oakley could have that weapon snapped up to her shoulder and aimed right at Claire's throat in an instant, and that Claire would be dead before Starkey even had a chance to strike.

"You know exactly why I didn't," Starkey said, and his eyes flickered over to Claire for only an instant to remind her that he hadn't forgotten that she was there. Even so, Claire felt like she was peeping on a very private conversation.

"They were trying to take you away from me," Oakley said, and there wasn't a hint of protest in her voice. From the way she sounded, she just believed that she was stating facts.

"We. Were. Talking," Starkey said, punctuating each word for emphasis. "Strategy. That's all. And you went up and started giving them death threats without any reason at all."

"I saw how they were looking at you, all that adoration in their eyes, all smiles and come-hither body language," Oakley said. For a moment, a brief moment, Claire thought that she was going to turn her back fully on Claire and speak only to Starkey, but the barrel of the E-liter barely wavered.

"You were getting jealous for no reason," Starkey said, and there was definitely an edge of irritation in his voice.

"I had a reason," Oakley snapped. "I loved you. I still love you. I didn't want you to have any temptation aside from me, and now I see you flouncing about with this trollop..."

Oakley's gaze turned towards Claire as if she was gesturing at an item rather than a person, then back to Starkey, "And I know that I should have done more. So I did what I could."

Claire didn't like where this was going. She raised a hand and took a step forward, her mouth opening to speak.

"Not a word, you little hussy," Oakley said, and her voice was like a parent telling a child that they will do as they are told. "You do so much as breathe in a way I don't like, and I'll pull this trigger right now."

The world fell silent for a moment. Out of the corner of her eye, Claire thought she saw a shadowy figure moving up the side of what she thought was a crane off in the distance. She knew that Dason and Valentina were at the docks as well, but she was also pretty sure that neither of them would be focused on the crane when there was reality-TV-level drama unfolding right here.

"What did you do," Starkey said, his voice once again a demand.

Oakley's face turned regretful, and her gaze drooped down away from Starkey's face. "I missed. I hurt you, but not in the way that I wanted to. I just wanted you to leave her, to drop her from the team, to take me back. Instead, I scarred you."

Starkey's hand reached up to his left eye, and even in the light of the street lamp, Claire could tell that his fingers were shaking. "This was you?"

"I didn't want to!" Oakley said, her voice anguished, "I never wanted to hurt you like that. I just... I wanted to hurt her... I was aiming for her, trying to blind her, make it so she could never see you again..."

Claire's ink ran cold, and her memory flashed back onto that day when Starkey had pushed her out of the way and how he had taken that hit for her. That hit that had been meant to ruin her life and nearly ruined his.

"After that, I had to keep an eye on you, make sure that you were still the same Starkey. I couldn't forgive myself for hurting you," Oakley said.

 _But you could have forgiven yourself for hurting me?_ Claire thought, though the glint of street lamp light off the barrel of the charger held her tongue.

"I watched you, followed both of you. You were the same, thank the Great Zapfish. You were still the same sweet, charming, kind person that you always were... but she had her claws in you," Oakley continued, and she practically spat the last part as if the words were poison on her tongue.

"Oakley," Starkey said as he took another step forward, "You can walk away, leave this be."

"No."

"Oakley."

"You belong with me!" Oakley said forcefully, taking another step, then another, then another towards Claire. Claire's eyes widened and she stepped back until she felt her heel resting on nothing but air. End of the line.

A quiet whirring started up in the background. Claire didn't know what it was, but then again, she didn't dare to see with Oakley's weapon pointed at her chest.

Claire looked over to Starkey and felt her eyes go wide. She wanted to say something, but the E-liter was almost touching her sternum, and there was now way that she could rely on Oakley's sanity to keep her alive.

"No. I don't," Starkey said, and Oakley tensed up to the point where Claire thought that her trigger discipline would slip and she would shoot Claire even if she didn't consciously mean to.

"No matter what you do," Starkey said. There was no hiding the anger in his voice, and Claire watched as the tips of Oakley's tentacles twitched in anger, and her lips began to curl into a sneer.

"I am _never_ going to be with you again," Starkey continued. "You threaten us, try to blind her, almost blind me, and still think that you have *any* right to be with me? You and I are finished, Oakley."

Claire had never seen a heart break from the outside before, but she was so fixated on Oakley that she couldn't help but see it this time.

Oakley's eyes widened, her hands started to shake and her expression turned slack, sorrowful, her breathing became a little ragged, and she tried desperately to keep her composure.

She failed miserably.

Claire looked past Oakley to see Starkey with an actual expression on his face: rage. Anyone else would have been scremaing their head off, possibly even trying to beat Oakley to a pulp, but he just stood there, his expression set in a scowl, the planes of his face harder than stone.

"I..." Oakley said, and there was a little bit of a sob in her voice. Starkey didn't move.

"I respect your decision," Oakley said, and Claire felt a wave of relief rush through her.

"I can't have you," Oakley said as she turned back to face Claire. Her expression was sorrowful, truly heartbroken. But, considering the fact that she had just been threatening Claire's life moments earlier, Claire thought that Oakley was taking the whole thing rather well.

Claire thought wrong. Oakley's lips curled into a snarl, her eyes blazed with liquid hate, and her voice was ragged as she spoke.

"I guess that nobody can," Oakley finished. She shoved the barrel of the weapon against Claire's chest, causing her to fall off balance.

Claire let out a short, cut-off scream as she flailed for something to grab onto, even though she was already a foot off the edge of the dock, falling eight feet into the water.

"Claire!" Starkey said as he ran forward. His hands reached out for her and even as his hand grabbed hers, they hit the water. Hard.

Claire struggled. Starkey struggled. She felt him trying to pull her up to the surface even as they began to sink. An inkling's body was heavier than water, so only the most physically strong or most mentally insane inklings tried to swim under any circumstances.

Starkey might have fallen under the first category in Claire's wildest fantasies, but there was no way that Claire was coming up. She sank deeper and deeper to the point where she she couldn't even see the bubbles escaping her own mouth as she and Starkey sank.

_I'm sorry,_ she thought to herself, _This was all my fault._

Exhaustion overtook her. Some people say that drowning felt like falling asleep and, despite the cold of the water, Claire felt warm, like a blanket was wrapping around her. She opened her mouth to welcome the first breath of water when she felt a pressure against her back.

Then she started to rise.

Claire let out a gasp as the platform broke the surface. It was all she could do to lay there and try to regain her breath. Starkey wasn't so lucky. He had appearently already took a breath of water, and now lay coughing, a long groan escaping from his lips.

Distantly, Claire heard a crack of the E-liter and saw a stream of glowing green ink shoot past her head, barely avoided, then a shout of, "Get away from them, you BITCH!"

After that, there was the familiar sound of Valentina's weapon, a steady "pop-pop-pop" as she inked turf all around Oakley and cut off an opportunity for escape. After that, it turned into all-out war, with the sounds of bombs and bullets going off with equal frequency.

Only now did Claire realize that the whirring came from a crane. The cargo hook had picked up a platform and was swinging it over the harbor far out of reach of Oakley's E-liter, souped-up as it was.

Claire's breath still came in wheezes and sputters even as the platform was set down and the crane powered off, and Starkey started scrabbling around the second they were settled, drunkenly trying to regain his footing while he muttered things that Claire couldn't quite make out. Valentina, still with a couple of smatterings of Oakley's ink on her clothes, came running up as Claire propped herself up against the wall of one of the warehouses and Starkey tried to stagger his way back to his feet.

"Claire! Starkey!" she said with genuine worry in her voice. Claire just focused on her breathing and gestured at Starkey even as Valentina began to look her over.

"Fine," Claire wheezed as she waved Valentina off. She took a few more breaths before the next words came out a little easier. "Check Starkey."

Valentina sat Starkey down and leaned him back against the wall of the warehouse, shaking him gently. "Come on, Cap... come on..." she said, trying to rouse him. His head lolled slightly, and his eyes were unfocused. Gibberish flowed from his lips.

Claire took stock of the situation and, bit by bit, understood Valentina's need for urgency.

First, based on how she'd been cussing her head off, Oakley was still around here somewhere.

Second, Claire could hear sirens.

There was a cracking sound, almost as loud as Oakley's E-liter as Valentina slapped Starkey across the face. Claire started to protest about how he landed flat on his face from a five-foot drop, and how percussive maintenance wouldn't work in this case, but Starkey slumped back onto the wall with a muttered, "Ow."

No inflection. He was fine.

Claire let out a sigh of relief and looked towards the crane to see Dason trotting towards the other three.

"We need to go," he said, and his gaze scanned the horizon. Without another word, he reached a hand down to help Claire up.

Claire could barely stand, but Dason shouldered her weight while Valentina helped Starkey. They ran, morphed through the fence, and kept going for a few blocks to where Valentina, Starkey, and Dason had stashed their gear cases in a dumpster-filled alley.

"The crane," Claire said to Dason as her teammates began to put away their gear, "Was that you?"

Dason grunted an affirmative.

"When the hell did you learn how to operate a crane?" Valentina asked incredulously.

Dason only stared at her, unreadable as a sphinx, and then continued putting his gear away.

Tonight, Claire had been held at gunpoint, taunted by a yandere, shoved into the water, and barely escaped the cops.

Somehow, the fact that Valentina didn't know one of the extents of Dason's weirdness was the most disconcerting thing of the evening.

They made their way back to the train station and caught their respective rides. Valentina fussed over Starkey and Claire before Dason dragged her onto the train just as the doors were closing, and Starkey took an out-of-the-way ride to make sure that Claire got home safely.

Things were awkwardly silent for a while before Claire said, "Thanks... that's the third time you've saved me, now."

Starkey arched an eyebrow at that, but didn't say anything aside from, "You would have done the same for me."

Claire smiled at that and leaned her head on Starkey's shoulder for a moment before she asked, "What happened between the two of you?"

He was silent for a moment. After a while, Starkey finally answered, "It was the chocolate vs. vanilla splatfest, not even ten minutes after we took that picture that you saw. I saw her talking to a girl, maybe a year younger than us, that I had been talking to after the end of last match, and Oakley threatened to hurt her if she ever saw her near me again.

"That happened three more times just that night alone, which made me wonder how long it had been happening altogether. I broke up with her the next morning. I kept the picture because it's the last time that I actually thought of her as a good person. I got rid of it when we got together because I didn't want something in my life that caused you so much pain. Clearly, it didn't work."

Claire bit her lower lip and said, "You didn't do that to her. She would have been the same way with anyone that she fell in love with."

"I know," Starkey said, and he gently kissed Claire's temple as a thanks for the reassurance. "And you're a lot stronger than she could ever be."

Claire paused at that and looked up at him. "What do you mean?"

"If I had said yes and gone back to her, what would you have done?"

Claire thought about it and came to the realization that Oakley would have probably shot her anyway, just to cut out some of the competition. "Assuming I was alive?"

"Yes," Starkey said, and his voice somehow sounded too level, as if he had been thinking the exact same thing.

"I would have let you go, because I know that you probably did it to save me and not because you actually loved her," Claire said.

"And you're right," Starkey said. They were getting close to Claire's stop, and he gently shrugged a shoulder so she'd sit up.

Claire obliged almost regretfully, and Starkey continued, "You understand me better than she ever could, and that's why I'm happier with you than I was with her."

He paused and stared blankly across the train car before he added, "That, and you don't have cephalopodicidal tendencies towards other girls I interact with. Always a plus."

Claire shuddered at the thought just as the announcement for her stop came across the intercom. "I'd never do that."

"I know you wouldn't," Starkey said as he started to stand up and see her off. "And I'm sorry that my past caused you so much trouble."

"You're the one that had to spend a day in the hospital because of it," Claire reminded him, and he froze at that. His hand reached up to the spattering of ink, now a shade of midnight blue so dark that it almost looked black.

"I don't think that I'll get it removed," Starkey said as the train came to a stop. "I've gotten used to it."

Claire smiled faintly at that and got up on her tiptoes to give Starkey a gentle kiss before she got off the train. He still had to go two more stops before he would switch trains to get to his place.

She walked back in the cool night air, mostly recovered from her unexpected dip, but still tired. It was hard not to be tired afte rall of the events of the evening, and she crept into her house with catlike tread and closed the door quietly behind her.

Of course, no sooner than she had thrown the deadbolt into place did the lights in the dining room come on.

Claire let out a sigh and took off her shoes, trundling into the dining room where she saw her mom and her dad both sitting at the dining room table with expressions that showed varying levels of discontent. 

"Out late, hm?" Charity asked. Claire winced.

"Sneaking out late, hm?" Michael said.

"Trying to sneak back in even later?"

"Unacceptable."

Claire stared at her parents, worried that she was going to be grounded for the remainder of time for this. She swallowed.

Michael asked the next question: "What were you doing?"

Charity didn't hesitate to follow up, and said, "Sneaking out to see Starkey?"

Claire tried not to let out a sigh of relief. "Yeah," she said, hoping that she sounded convincing, "How did you know?"

Immediately, her parents stopped with the Spanish Inquisition and relaxed. They glanced at each other, then smiled warmly. "Honey," Charity began, "If you wanted to spend the night with your boyfriend, you could have just asked. We were your age, once. We get it."

"Just make sure you use protection," Michael added, "We're way too young to become grandparents."

Claire's face darkened and she nodded in agreement, "Yeah. I can do that. I'll be sure to ask next time."

Charity stood up, satisfied, and said, "Let's go back to bed, Michael."

"Just a moment," Michael said as he rose from the table as well. They were wearing matching pajama bottoms, which would have been adorable if Claire wasn't also bone-weary and wanted to sleep as well. "I just want to get some juice before bed," he finished. He went in the kitchen and began to pour out a glass of apple juice for himself. Claire began to make her way to her bedroom, but a statement from Michael stopped her from going past the fridge.

"You actually snuck out to go and have a near-fatal meeting with your partner's psycho ex, didn't you?"

Claire stopped, frozen stock-still mid-step, and she was pretty sure that her bones creaked as she turned her head to look at her dad as he closed the fridge and nonchalantly took a sip of his juice.

"H... how?" Claire asked, unable to finish the thought because of how batshit crazy the implications were.

"Your mom told you," Michael said with a wry smile, "There's nothing that you can do that she and I haven't either done or gotten caught doing."

The fact that Michael had (apparently) been in a similar situation to the one that Claire had faced not a half an hour ago was staggering, and she didn't know if it was something that her mom had been privy to either.

She decided to leave it as it was. There was no point in pretzeling her brain over something that she really didn't want to know about.

Just like her parents' time at Camp Triggerfish. She suppressed a shudder because she had a pretty good idea as to the activities that they had gotten up to outside of the games.

Michael rested his free hand on Claire's shoulder, causing her to come out of her reverie with a start.

"You're okay?" he asked, once again the picture of fatherly care.

"Yeah," Claire said with a nervous nod. "Just tired."

"Get some rest," Michael said as he leaned over and kissed Claire on the forehead. "If you want to talk about it tomorrow, we can do that after your mom leaves for work. But either way, I'm making you chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast."

Claire couldn't help but smile at the thought. Her dad might be the kind of guy to buy a book called "How Not To Burn Water," but he knew how to make breakfast like nobody's business, and his chocolate chip pancakes were no exception. A couple of slices of banana on top would make them perfect.

"Thanks, Dad," Claire said as she hugged him. Michael patted her back and said only, "Get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

They both went to bed, and Michael hit the lights on the way out. Left in the darkness, Claire felt a wave of fatigue wash over her so strong that she didn't even feel herself hit the mattress. She was asleep already.

Dreamless sleep washed over her and kept her in its embrace until a gentle hand jostled her shoulder, rousing her from rest.

"Mrnguh?" Claire said, a sound that was supposed to sound more like "What?" and yet came out as incomprehensible speech.

"Breakfast is almost ready. It's nine-thirty." Michael's voice was soothing, and Claire sat up to rub the sand from her eyes. She let out a mighty yawn and looked blearily over at her dad, who was smiling kindly at her.

"Gimme a bit," Claire mumbled as she swung her legs off the bed and got up to stretch.

"Sure thing," Michael said as he left the room and closed the door behind him. "Breakfast will be ready in about ten."

"M'kay," Claire said as she started to stretch. Somehow, even though she hadn't been doing a lot of running or exercising yesterday, she still felt sore all over. Fear is one hell of a drug, she supposed, and the aches were probably from her dip into the ocean more than anything else.

She put on her slippers and shambled out of the kitchen with her phone in one pocket of her pants and poured herself a cup of milk from the jug in the fridge before she sat down and just took in the scent of the pancakes.

It was a good smell, she realized, and the simple fact that it was there made her straighten up and wake up a bit more.

Within her dad's promised ten minutes, she had a plate of three large pancakes in front of her with fork, knife, and banana. Michael put another plate in front of his own spot as well as some butter for the two of them to share, and they ate in silence.

Michael didn't press about the events of the previous night, and Claire had no desire to tell him. All in all, they seemed content to keep it that way.

Claire's phone buzzed.

Instinctively, she pulled it out of her pocket and checked the message, even as Michael arched an eyebrow at her from across the table.

Claire started to put the phone away. "Sorry, Dad," she said. There was a strict 'no phones at the table while people still have food in front of them' policy in the house.

Michael held up a hand before he continued, "It's probably about last night. I'll suspend the rule this once."

Claire looked at him, then down at the phone before she proceeded. There was no way that her parents would try to pull a phone-related trick over on her more than once in the year. She checked the message.

 **Dason** : Hey. Vale and I have some questions about last night, and we want to talk. When are you free to come over?

Even as she watched, Starkey replied to the chat.

 **Starkey** : Approximately four-thirty. All of my day before that will mean making inquiries about the status of our company from midnight.

Claire shot a quick message out as well before she stuffed her phone back in her pocket.

 **Claire** : I can come over at um  
 **Claire** : about four-thirty to five, too...

She put her phone back in her pocket and ignored the final buzzes, instead choosing to focus on enjoying her time with her dad.

Breakfast concluded in silence, and the pair got to work washing, drying, and putting the dishes away together (it's not like there were a lot of them, and the dishwasher was thankfully empty), and Claire checked her phone once everything was said and done.

 **Valentina** : gr8 come on ovr n ill order pizza 4 us  
 **Starkey** : I am perpetually in the mood to appreciate a slice.  
 **Valentina** : if u dont <3 pizza ur wrong  
 **Dason** : Just come on over whenever you guys are free. Here's the address if you need it:

Dason sent the address, but Claire didn't save it. She had been over to Valentina's place before, and it would take a while for her to get there. After all, the nicer parts of town were further away from pesky pedestrian things like bus stops and subway stations.

Claire went back to her room in order to do some extra work on the exceedingly large lobster plush that she had started putting together last night, and was almost done with the framework for the tail when she realized that she needed to get going.

Her dad had left to go to work at about lunchtime (he'd explained that he only took a half day to make sure that she was okay, so he still had to get to work at a reasonable hour), and Claire jotted out a quick message for her folks on a little whiteboard that was currently magneted to the fridge.

_"Mom, Dad: Dason invited me over for dinner. I'm going to hang out with them. I'll be back a little late tonight."_

That should cover her bases, and it wasn't like she wouldn't be available for a call if they needed confirmation.

Then again, she would have to let Valentina do the talking. Claire's parents knew and liked Valentina. Dason would probably just breathe heavily into the reciever and make sure that Claire was never allowed to go over to that house again.

Claire got onto the T to Inkopolis Plaza, then switched to the H in order to carry her most of the way to the development where Dason and Valentina lived, but she still needed to grab the C bus in order to make it most of the rest of the way there.

Even so, it was still a ten-minute walk from the bus stop to their house, and Claire used the brass knocker hanging off the oak front door in order to announce her presence.

Valentina opened the door a moment later and beamed at Claire before throwing her arms around her friend and saying, "I'm glad you're okay. You don't even seem a little shaken about what happened last night."

It was only now that Claire realized that Valentina was right. She'd been threatened with shooting, nearly drowned, almost arrested, and very nearly got into trouble with her parents, but Claire was... she was okay. She didn't know why she felt that way, but she thought it was the combination of her teammates being there for her, Starkey being a shoulder to lean on, and her father being someone who had apparently been there and done that.

People that were there to help made things a lot easier to bear, apparently.

Claire nodded and said, "I know that there are people that have my back. I think that helps."

Valentina held Claire out at arm's length and smiled at her before pulling her inside. "Come on. Starkey's already here. We were just waiting on you."

Claire stepped in and was assailed by the scent of a lot of pizza. "Mom's out of town on some business. An executive meeting or something," Valentina said, "She said I could have friends over, so long as I cleaned up after myself."

In return, Claire nodded in understanding as she made her way deeper into the house that was practically a mansion compared to her own. It seemed like enough space for seven people, so it must have been almost excessive for the people that lived there presently.

Starkey and Dason sat at the table with slices on plates in front of them. Neither of them had taken a bite, and steam still wafted from the open boxes. Apparently, Claire hadn't been too late in showing up.

Valentina sat down and everyone waited as Claire picked out a simple slice of cheese and another that looked like it had mushrooms and caramelized onions on it, then sat down.

"So," Dason said, "What's the word about last night."

"Regarding Oakley?"

"There was other stuff that happened last night?" Dason asked. Claire couldn't remember the tension being this high in the room between her team.

"She won't be bothering anyone anymore," Starkey said. From the tone in his voice, Claire couldn't tell if he was saying that he had seen to it that Oakley was dead, that she was scared and skipped town, or that he meant exactly what he had said.

All things considered, Claire didn't want to know.

Nevertheless, just like that, a wave of relief washed over the table and Dason and Valentina seemed to collectively exhale. Even Claire let out a breath that she didn't realize she had been holding and glanced between her teammates. "That's it? That's all?" she asked.

"Not... quite," Valentina clarified before Dason glanced over at her. "Please," she continued, "Let me start this?"

Even Starkey looked mildly confused. Valentina cleared her throat and began haltingly, her voice doing its best to maintain composure and not crack. "Claire... do you remember the last time you came over, and you asked about Dason and I?"

Claire remembered it well. Valentina invited her over so they could do each other's hair and just get to know one another better shortly after Claire had joined the team. "You said that your situation was complicated," Claire said.

"I think it's finally time that we tell you," Valentina said before she looked over at Dason.

He picked up the slack and added, "Last night, you trusted us to have your backs in a life-or-death situation. We want to show you that we trust you as well."

By the Great Zapfish, he was using _grammar_. This had to be serious.

"So," Starkey said as he set down his slice of pizza, unbitten, "What do you want to tell us?"

Valentina closed her eyes and said only: "Let's start at the beginning."


End file.
